A City of Ice
by Trixy BuenaSuerte
Summary: I thought I could save them. I thought it would be easy, but it's not. It's slowly spiraling out of control. First Kadar, and then Abbas, and now the solar flares are coming for us. For both our world and theirs. And I don't know if I can save them, let alone us. Minerva screwed us. Mom, Dad, I failed. — Jennifer P.S. I'm scared (A World On Fire: Part Two)
1. Part Two: Prologue

_**Author's Note** **:**_ _So I'm guessing some of you are confused as all heck right now, and I' sorry._ _But I'm here to set everything straight!_

 _A Place in Time is technically a Filler Story (so I've been calling it an Interlude.) How it relates to the main plot is only by small threads. Think of it as a fanfiction of A World on Fire (so you don't need to have read it to follow the plot). The actual Part Two to A World on Fire is "A City of Ice"._

 _So basically, you don't have to read_ _A Place in Time __to follow the actual plot. You only need to read_ _A World on Fire_ _(Part One) and_ _A City of Ice_ _(Part Two)._

 _A Place in Time_ _is basically just one giant outtake that is only there for me to try my hand at world building and writing a mystery novel. So please excuse me as I fumble around a bit with_ _A Place in Time_ _..._

 _This is why I can work and update both at the same time! Anyways, I hope this clears things up for some of you and if not feel free to message, comment, or yell at me and I'll answer all your questions._

 **Part Two**

* * *

 **Prologue**

The third swirl opens with no dramatics.

There's no panic, no shouting, or confusion. It opens quietly, in the dead of the night. No one follows through from the other side so there are no loud questions of "Where am I?"

If it wasn't because I'm certain there were only two swirls last time we checked, I wouldn't even have realized it was there at all.

It twirls innocently with the other two like it's always been there. Like it belongs nestled in-between them. It's smaller than them, though. No more than an inch or two, but it's noticeably dark colors make it look a whole lot smaller.

It shines gray, dull.

Sad.

While Kenny and Father examine it, a strange feeling of overwhelming melancholy fills me. There's absolutely no activity coming from the swirl. There's no Assassins or bird trying to get an Assassin back into his realm.

There's nothing

That's what makes it sad. It's almost as if whatever was supposed to make it through can't. So the swirl just sits there, twinkling sadly next to its neighbors with its darker hues.

Everyone stays quiet as we crowd around the swirl. All eyes turn to me, waiting for me to come to a decision. It's all kinds of funny that I've somehow become the leader of our little group. When it comes to dimension travel, everyone follows my lead. Albeit with a fair share of grumbling and questioning.

Thing is though, I'm not sure what to do.

Nothing has come through for me to even begin to know where this swirl opens up. Going in now will be risky, but this dark and lonely swirl beckons me forward. It calls to me. It beckons me forwards. No matter how stupid it may be to go in without knowing where I'll end up, I want to.

I need too.

I continue to watch it, uncaring of the eyes on me. Everyone waits patiently as I come to a decision. They don't rush me even as the minutes tick by. They stay quiet. It's the silence that decides it for me. It's the absolute show of trust that allows me to make the choice.

"Get your things, we're going on an adventure."


	2. Part Two: Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Just a quick heads up for anyone still confused, this chapter picks up almost exactly where A World on Fire left off!_

 **Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"Is this really how you want to end it?"

I feel like I'm poised on the edge of a cliff, teetering between falling off or hanging on for dear life. Kenny's voice breaks through the fog of indecision in my mind easily enough, but it doesn't bring answers. It doesn't bring relief.

I don't know what to do.

I don't know whether to let go. If I should just accept my fate and allow the darkness to swallow me as I plunge into the abyss. Or cling to the edge until rescue comes. If I should fight and claw my way through this until there's nothing left.

Until there's nothing left to fight against.

For once, I find myself almost wishing he would make the choice. For once, I wish someone would sit me down and make the call themselves. For once, I wish it wasn't me.

I wish that Minerva had chosen someone, anyone else.

 _Please, anyone but me._

But she didn't.

So now I sit here, surrounded by all my mistakes and regrets and wishing someone could come to rescue me. That someone would come and relieve me of a burden I had never asked for. Now more than ever I wish that none of this had ever happened.

I wish I hadn't fallen in love.

"Jen."

Kenny's voice does even less now to dispel the fog. Still, my eyes go to his, searching for answers as he takes my face in his hands. They're warm against my cheeks, shockingly so as they ease the nip of the winter winds.

It's only then that I realize I'm shivering, harshly as the winds whip around us. It's late, very late. The sun has set long ago, allowing winter to truly cool the night until the wind almost burns sensitive skin. My cheeks are as numb as the tips of my fingers.

"What happened?"

His words are low, calm but strong. He expects an answer this time. He won't accept being ignored again. There's a determination in his gaze that tells me I won't get away with not answering his questions again. And there's been plenty of them.

Ever since I ran.

Fresh out of the swirl, I hadn't been thinking. Thoughts of finally curling up in my own bed after days spent traveling home from Jerusalem had been long gone by the time I'd touched down into the pillow pit. All that had been left had been the irresistible need to run, to escape. The only thing I wanted then was to leave and get as far away from the swirl, from Masyaf, from _Altaïr._

I had run out of the house like I couldn't get away fast enough. Not even bothering to change into more era-appropriate clothing, I had bolted out the door. I would have kept running too. Only Kenny's long legs and quick thinking had kept me from literally running down the street.

Jumping into the swirl after me, Ken had been smart enough to snag his keys on his way out of the house as he raced to catch up to me. Stopping me just before I could clear the house's gates, he'd steered me towards his car instead.

It's how we found ourselves here, settled on the oddly black hood of Kenny's otherwise white Scion, FR-S. We're on a hill, a tall one that overlooks a freeway and the city below. The glow of houses and businesses and cars and lampposts light up the night, fighting back the darkness.

We're perched on the edge of the hill, right before the very steep, very rocky incline. We're on the 'Top of The World'. My city's tallest hill and a very popular hangout spot to sit at in the middle of the night and watch the world below. Yet, today, it's empty, deserted so there's no one to hear what I have to say.

At least no one but Ken.

"I was wrong."

He says nothing to me but lets my face go when I turn it back to look over the city. I watch as the cars whiz by, unaware that the Fabric of Time and Space had been torn open weeks ago. People continue on with their lives, uninterrupted and unburden by the choices I face.

I envy them.

"I was wrong to fall in love with him," I tell Kenny, something like regret thick in my voice. "He was never meant to be mine, Ken, but I was willing to steal him away. I was willing to condemn his future children to never being born because I was selfish enough to fall in love with him—to keep loving him even while knowing that Maria was out there waiting for him."

"You were always supposed to love him, Jen," he says, the pity in his voice plain for all to hear as he too turns to watch the city. "None of this would have worked if you didn't."

"She knew, didn't she?" I mutter, my voice low enough that the wind almost steals the words away. "Minerva knew I would fall in love with him."

"I think she was betting on it."

A soft _'hmmm'_ is the only answer I give him then. It's the only answer I can give. My thoughts are all over the place. They jump from Altaïr to Adha to Minerva to the swirl to questioning just what I'm doing with my life in general.

 _Nothing._

I'm doing nothing with it. Not school or work or even _living._ At least not really. Not by the terms most people my age would think of. I'm not going out and creating memories, or meeting people, or even trying to better my life.

I'm just _there_.

I'm just sitting at home, waiting for the direction of some deranged god that thinks I'm somehow the answer to all her problems. I'm being a tool. I'm doing what she wishes and allowing myself to fall into her plans so easily I've somehow managed to convince myself they were my decisions all along.

"I don't think I want to do this, Ken."

I don't think I ever did. One of my first thought upon learning Altaïr's true identity had been to send him back home. Sure the thought of going to Masyaf had been there as well, but I hadn't thought to start saving people. Not at first. At least not until Minerva had dangled a perfectly unharmed Malik in front of my eyes.

Only for her to rip him away and personally see to it that he'd still lose his arm. Even after everything I did. Even after I had somehow managed to set Altaïr on the path to saving Kadar, she'd still taken him away.

 _Why?_

Incentive. She wanted to give me the taste of almost succeeding. The feeling of knowing that, while Kadar still died and Malik lost his arm, Altaïr hadn't killed the old man so he wasn't all bad. To show me that Altaïr was redeemable. Except there was nothing to redeem.

Altaïr hadn't done anything worth needing to be redeemed over.

Not this time.

She made sure of that. By showing him everything he'd ever done wrong, blaming him for every bad thing that would come, she had singlehandedly guaranteed that. She had scarred him, torment him with images of an injured Malik, a dead Kadar, and even images of Desmond strapped to a machine and being tortured for the memories inside of his genes.

 _But why?_

What was it all for? Why would she do this to him? Why would she show him all the horrible things to come if she was going make them happen anyway? Why go through all that trouble when, in the end, they couldn't be avoided.

Why? Well that's simple, isn't it? It was all for me.

So he wouldn't kill _me._

You take a man uncaring— _unburdened_ by the rules of his creed, of _life._ A man who lives only for himself, for his wants and needs, and you break him. You tear him down bit by bit until all you have left is a man tormented by all the choices he has yet to make. Then you toss him into a world so unfamiliar he has no choice but to latch on to the first face he sees.

So you give him to a girl so desperate to do something with her life—to make something of herself. One so _eager_ to prove herself that she'll do everything you say with no resistance at all.

"You remember dad's theory?" I ask Kenny then, hands going to tug nervously at the browned hem of my pink tunic. It's dirty. Filthy, actually. There will be no saving it, not with the days' worth of sweat and dirt on it. "The one about Minerva not being able to see me because I wasn't a part of their universe?"

"Yeah."

"See, I don't think it's true," I tell him, turning back to stare over the city. Stars. The lights look like stars as they twinkle in the night. It's a city of stars. "I think she's been able to see us all along."

"Then why would she send Ezio?"

When Ezio had appeared all those nights ago he had said that Minerva had sent him as a failsafe. That, since Minerva couldn't see what we would do, she had sent him as a backup plan. But what if we misunderstood what she meant?

When Ezio had said she couldn't see what we would do, we took that as she couldn't see us at all. But maybe that wasn't the case. Maybe she just meant she couldn't see what we would do in that instant. And whatever decision we had been about to make must have been crucial. So much so that us choosing the wrong path just wasn't an option so Minerva had sent Ezio.

"Why would she send Ezio if she could see what we're going to do all along?" Ken ask, voice going low.

Before Ezio had shown up, Altaïr had just returned from Jerusalem, Robert de Sablé had just marched on Masyaf, and I had just come home more defeated than ever before. Minerva had sprung her trapped, after all. She'd led me on, believing that this was my chance to change everything, only to force it to be the same.

"Because we were probably going to do something she didn't want," I answer, but what were we going to do? Even after all that, I was still more than willing to help. Determined even. So what could have possibly been bad enough that she would need to send another Assassin to intervene? What were we planning before Ezio showed up?

Defeated, annoyed, and frustrated, I had only one thought in mind.

"I was going to destroy the apple."

"I didn't think you were being serious about that," Ken says, voice still low as he sits up a little straighter. He stares at me then, eyes wide but I don't turn to look at him. My eyes go to my hands instead as a small amount of guilt fills me because, yeah, that probably wasn't a good idea.

"Oh, I was," I tell him, wrinkling my nose as I catch sight off all the filth caught underneath my fingernails. I desperately need a shower. A nice, long, hot one. "I was going to smash it to pieces the first chance I got."

"Huh? So that's why she sent Ezio?" Ken asks as he settles back, leaning against the car's tinted mirrors. He's calm now, we both are, but that doesn't ease the lump in my throat. It doesn't make everything okay. Not by a long shot. "So that he would stop us from destroying it?"

"Or maybe to offer another chance to get our hands on one if we had destroyed Altaïr's apple," I tell him, considering that both swirls opened at just the right time so Ezio will get his apple around the same time Altaïr will get his. Whether I break Altaïr's apple or not, Ezio's apple will appear as a backup either way. "So she does want the apple, then."

"But she already had it didn't she?" Ken asks, hands going under his head as he looks up at the stars. He's the perfect picture of eased and relaxed as he lays there. "In Solomon's temple, remember? She had it then. If she wanted it so badly, why would she let it go?"

"Maybe because she wants us to have it?"

It's a guess, but it's all I have right now. It's all I will have too. At least until Minerva gets her head out of her ass and actually tells us what it is she wants. I'm done with all this cryptic shit. I've had more than enough of this.

We fall quiet then. As we watch the stars shine high above us, we process everything we've learned. Going over our new answers, I attempt to figure out what to do next. I've hit a fork in the road. With everything that's happened in just these few days alone, I have more than a bit to consider and I don't even know where to start.

But there's one thing I'm sure of at least.

"I'm not going to help her anymore," I tell Ken as I slip off the hood. I glide easily off it, my soft cotton clothes don't catch on the polished metal as I get to my feet. Ken follows my lead, getting to his feet as soon as I do. "At least not until she acts like an adult and _tells_ me what she wants."

"Sounds fair enough," Ken agrees, long limbs pulling into a stretch as he stands. He's just as filthy as I am. There's dirt and sweat staining his once white tunic to the point it's now slightly brown. We don't smell all that great either. "But what about Altaïr."

"What about him?" I ask, the forced nonchalant falling flat as I climb into the car. The black, leather seat is cold, freezing. It sends a shock through my already thoroughly frozen body as I curl up into the seat. I almost feel guilty as I do. Ken's car deserves better than to be dirtied by my sweat stain clothes, except Ken doesn't mind.

All Leather interior means less chance of it actually absorbing unpleasant smells, after all.

"You know what," Kenny says as he climbs into the driver's seat. The car starts up quietly, so quietly I don't even realize he's started it until we move. The car glides down the dirt road smoothly, so much so you don't really feel the bumps in the rood. At least not that much. A FR-S isn't really built for off-roading but the car's fairly new so the suspensions handle the bumps well enough. "Will you break it off with him?"

"I don't know," I tell him as the dirt road turns to asphalt and the car truly begins to move. These cars were built for speed, so the speedometer climbs past 50 mph after only a few seconds on the road. "I…I honestly don't know."

Silence falls over us then, only broken by the soft beats of a song turned down too low to actually be audible and the soft purr of the car's engine. Kenny says nothing as we speed down the darkened road with only the headlights to light the way. He stays quiet, one hand on the wheel as the other shifts gears when necessary.

"I can't tell you what to do," he starts, voice low and thoughtful after a few minutes of almost complete silence. "I think you should just do what you think is best. Even if that means continuing to be with him. But, whatever you choose, you need to bear in mind that you might not actually get to keep him."

"Will you do the same?" I ask, voice just as low. My eyes are focused on the road, watching the asphalt disappear under us, but even then I see Kenny's fist tighten on the steering wheel out of the corner of my eye.

"Yes."

"Isn't it funny, Ken," I tell him as I lean further into the leather seat. I turn to look at him then. The blue glow of the dash makes the shadow on his face deeper, harsher so he looks way older than I ever remember seeing him. The stress of these past weeks has aged us more than days spent tirelessly working at our jobs ever could. "That after years alone, we finally found someone and we can't even keep them? To think, we waited this long for nothing."

"No, Jen," he says, the pity back in his voice even as his grip on the steering wheel turns his knuckles white. "It wasn't for nothing."

"How?" I ask, voice breaking as the lump in my throat thickness to the point where no other words make it out.

"Because I'd rather live life knowing what love felt like than never to have felt it at all," he whispers, voice steady and strong and confident in the way mine can never be. "I'd rather spent it knowing that I once had someone who loved me enough to face hell for me than to go through it thinking no one could ever love me."

"You love him."

"I don't know," Ken says, grip going tighter and the shadows on his face darkening in confusion. "But I know that we could have something between us if I just let it."

"Then why don't you?"

"I'm scared," he admits, voice once again lowering even as he finally lets up his grip on the wheel. "But not of losing him. I'm scared of everything that could go wrong. They live dangerous lives, Jen. You may be able to deal with the dangers of their worlds like you were born for it, but I'm not you. I wasn't made to go on dangerous adventures and have epic sword fights and save the day.

"I'm just me," he says voice breaking with something like self-hatred. "I'm Kenny, the nerd who spends all day in his workshop, inventing things, and never leaves his house unless it's for work. Ezio and I, we're different. Too different and I can never be what he needs. I can never pick up a sword and fight at his side or be there to have his back in the midst of battle."

"He isn't asking you to be," I tell him, voice just as low. Ken jolts at the words, but his eyes stay locked on the road ahead. "He doesn't want you to ride after him into battle, Ken. I think you'd give him a heart attack if you did."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because he didn't want that life for Claudia," I tell him, the certainty in my words so clear he spares me a quick glance. "When she wanted nothing more than to be an Assassin, he fought her so hard on it that they didn't speak for years, I think. So if he didn't want this life for her, I would think he wouldn't want it for you either."

He says nothing then. Neither of us does. We finally allow the silence to settle over us. It's a heavy one though, filled with the weight of a lot of choices we've yet to make. It's uncomfortable but we let the silence continue even after we pull up to the house.

As I watch the house, sitting so innocently despite all the secrets it harbors within its walls, I almost don't want to go inside. But I do, with a resolve I don't know where I got from, I gather what little courage I have left and step out of the car.

The hardest thing about doing something you don't want to is ignoring all the reasons why you shouldn't do it. As I put one foot firmly in front of the other, I have to fight off every thought that tells me to dive right back into Kenny's car and ask to be taken far away from here.

 _I've run away for long enough._

Still, each step is harder than the last and each thought is more convincing the closer I get to the front door. Kenny trails behind me, willing to let me take these few extra moments to settle my thoughts. To decide, really. He doesn't rush me as I slowly but surely make my choice.

There's so much to decide and even more to think on. Though, with Minerva calling the shots and determined to make me do her bidding, I know most of my decisions will be useless. I'm still going to make them, though. If only to tempt her into revealing her hand. The sooner I know what she's planning, the better.

 _It's time to know exactly what is going on._

"I think," I tell Kenny as we finally reach the front door. Clammy hand wrapped around the round, brass doorknob, I come to at least one decision in this whole complicated mess. "I'm going to take a break from all this."

"Take as long as you need," Kenny says, hand coming up to settle on my shoulder. "You deserve a break after everything you've gone through. We'll hold down the fort till you're ready to go again."

There's no doubt in his voice because we both know I will go again. That I won't give up. Not on this. Not after so long. It's not in my nature to give up. So no matter what Minerva might show me or what tricks she might pull, we both know I'll be back.

"Thank you."


	3. Part Two: Chapter 2

**Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Four pairs of eyes turn our way when we finally enter the house. Alexis, Mother, Father, and even Ezio are gathered in the living room, seated on the various couches as they no doubt wait for us. Steeling myself, I wait for the onslaught of questions to begin. With the way I ran out of the house, I'm actually pretty surprised that they haven't already tried to hunt us down.

Yet no question come.

Instead, all but Mother turn their attention back to the Television quietly blaring out the nightly news.

"You're home," she says. The relived 'finally' goes unsaid but you can tell it's there as she stands and pulls me into a tight hug. "Come, let's get you into a warm bath and some clean clothes."

I don't fight her.

I don't want to.

This is my mother, my best friend and closest confidant (besides Kenny). I want nothing more than to curl up into her arms and cry my eyes out yet again. So I go easily enough as she drags me through the house and into the bathroom.

Once the water is steaming and bubbly and ready she leaves me be. Quiet music filters out of the small speaker by the sink, soothing and comforting. As I sink into the water, I know I should take my time in here. After days spent on the road, I should linger in the water until my fingers are nice and pruny.

But I don't.

I'm scrubbed clean and out of the tub before the first song even ends. Even though the warm water promises to ease all my aches and pain, I don't want to linger. I don't want to be alone. Even with the soft music and the splashing of water, the bathroom seems too quiet. Too big.

Too lonely.

I towel off just as quickly and pull on fresh clothes even though I know I'll regret wasting such a nice bath tomorrow. Once clean and dressed I all but race out of the restroom, mind set on going straight to bed.

Or at least it is until I catch sight of the stairs and hear the soft murmur of voice quietly discussing in the living room.

"What happened?"

"Altaïr..."

I don't linger to hear the next words out of Ken's mouth. I know what they are anyways and I'm silently thankful that I won't have to explain any of this myself. So instead I climb the stairs, slowly, almost hesitantly.

It hasn't escaped my notice that Altaïr isn't down there. That he wasn't sprawled on one of the couches, waiting for my arrival. With the way I reacted, he probably hasn't even made the jump.

He's probably still in Masyaf.

A giant little part of me wants to jump back through. It wants to run back to him and dive into his arms and beg him to forget everything. It wants to pretend none of this whole Adha business ever happened and I didn't run from him.

That part, the one that withers and twists and throbs and all but yowls inside my chest, wants nothing more than to go back to how we used to be.

But I don't.

I can't. Not when another part of me is still dead set on setting him free. Of giving him over to Maria, his rightful wife. So rather than racing back into his arms like I want to, I don't head towards the attic when I reach the top of the stairs.

Instead, I pad down the hall in the opposite direction. Bare feet relishing the feel of the cool wooden floor, I head to the room at the end of the hall. The door is cracked open just a bit, letting out the light that shines inside.

Mother sits on her bed, thin, pale legs crossed, as she thinks. One hand runs over her quilt, tracing the pink, flowery designs of it while the other cups her chin, elbow preached on her thigh. Her face is blank, passive but something like a sad smile crosses it when she catches sight of me.

She says nothing as I cross her room and climb onto her bed. Curling up into her side, she begins to run gentle hands through my hair, carefully pulling the tangles from it. I ease into the comfort, shifting until I'm sitting in front of her to make it easier.

"Tell me," she says, voice soft and in no way demanding as she combs her fingers through my hair.

And I do.

I tell her everything, from the beginning of our trip to Masyaf, to its disastrous end. I tell her about riding Epona through the villages and across wide open fields, and about spending the day with Malik sipping hot chocolate and some god awful tea, and I tell her about walking through the Market that felt strangely like home.

She says nothing, fingers never once faltering in their gentle tugs. She works out all the knots, silently, while I talk. Even when I get to the part about Abbas and the ambush, she does nothing more than hum. Albeit it's a bit strained.

Though, when I get to Adha and Altaïr's lost love, she pulls me into her chest as my voice cracks just the tiniest bit.

"I'm fine," I tell her, voice shaking as I once again fight the lump in my throat. Throwing my hands over my eyes, I try to fight back the tears prickling at the back of my eyes before they can fall. "I can't keep crying about this."

"Why not?" she asks, voice soft as she rests her chin on top of my head. Her arms tighten around me, holding me firmly against her chest. "If it hurts, then cry. Holding back the tears will only make it hurt more. So go ahead and cry, hun, I have you."

It seems her permission is all I need. The tears stream freely past my hands even as I choke down the sobs threatening to break free.

"I have you, hun."

The whisper is soft and soothing in a way that only makes me cry harder. The tears seem to be never-ending as my heart throbs and twists and churns in betrayal it has no right feeling. At least not towards Altaïr. It's not his fault he loved Adha. It's not his fault he married Maria. Hell, it's not even his fault he dropped out of the sky and into my life.

It's not his fault that I fell in love with him.

No, the blame lies solely on Minerva and her conniving, manipulative ways. But even knowing that doesn't lessen the pain. It doesn't ease the hurt or stop the tears. It doesn't make everything okay.

It doesn't make me love him any less.

So instead I sit here, furiously trying to hold what's left of my heart together as it slowly breaks apart.

As I mourn for a love that can never be.

"I can't tell you what to do," Mother says, voice still soft as she holds me. My tears haven't stopped falling and I don't even know if they ever will, but the sobs have finally stopped trying to crawl out of my throat. "And I don't want to see you suffer."

Warm hands go to cup my cheeks, grip gentle as she turns my face towards her. I let my hands drop then, no longer bothering to hide behind them as she pulls my gaze towards her.

"But I don't think you should give up on him."

The words stay with me long after my tears have dried and I've finally crawled into my own bed. They stay with me, circling in my head and keeping me from sleep even as I wrap myself in more blankets than is strictly necessary.

So of course, it's as I lay there, swallowed by a cocoon of blankets that I realize I won't be able to sleep. Despite all that has happened in the past few days and the exhaustion I can feel in my bones, sleep won't come.

Not when my bed feels so big, so empty and cold. I've gotten too used to the warmth of being held, of falling asleep to the rhythm of someone else's breathing. I've gotten so used to having someone next to me and the security of having someone within hands reach. Sleeping alone, now, seems impossible so I crawl back out of bed.

Slow and unsure, I slip out from under my mountain of blankets. The cold night air greets me almost as soon as I push aside the blankets, raising goosebumps across my skin as I pad to the dresser and pull out a fresh pair of leggings and a tunic.

I question my decision even as I pull on my boots. Thoughts of whether I should really do this now, so soon and on so little sleep, circle around my head as I head back up to the attic. Whatever the answer may be, I carefully pull Uncle Mario's red, leather journal out from under a stack of papers. Taking only a few of the translated pages, I run them quickly through the computer and retranslate them into Arabic.

Once the pages are done and freshly printed, I staple them together, if only to make sure they don't fly away as I stand before the swirls. Even dressed and ready to go with the pages held tightly to my chest, I still can't help but ask myself if I should really be doing this.

The answer is no.

I really, really shouldn't.

But that's never stopped me before.

The touch down is softer than I can ever remember it being. The hay envelopes me so well that my already aching muscles don't protest the landing. Crawling out of the hay is a whole other story though.

My arms strain and wobble and throb as I pull myself out of the hay and over the edge of the cart, pages still clutched to my chest. My exhaustion runs so deep that my knees buckle as I jump off the cart. Only my grip on it keeps me from falling onto the floor.

Taking a second to gather my strength, I pull in deep, long breaths. I'm pack-less this time. Weaponless too. In my tiredness, I'd forgot to get any supplies what so ever. Other than the pages in my hands, I've brought nothing with me, not even my camera glasses. Not that I care. To my slow, sluggish mind, none of that matters.

Not, right now.

The trek up the hill to the fortress is much the same as when I was hungover all those weeks ago. Minus the nausea. So it's slow going and much stumbling and I few odd stares before I reach the top. Once I do though, I just stand by the gates, unsure if I'm even welcomed anymore.

While I technically didn't 'defect', I had run from Altaïr.

Uncertain of my next step should be, I lean against the stone walls and watch others go about their lives. My mind is too sluggish to come up with an answer, my thoughts moving too slow and jumbled to really come up with a course of action.

So I stand there for longer than I mean to.

"It is Jennifer, is it not?"

I do nothing more than hum in agreement as I turn towards the voice. I don't even bother to panic because I already know who it belongs to. I spent many days trying to weasel my way out of his training sessions after all.

"Are you searching for Altaïr?" Rauf asks, curious brown eyes locked on me. He's dressed in his usual mentor robes and I little part of me wonders if he isn't looking for Altaïr himself. Too tired to figure out how to make my voice work, I just nod. "He has been up in the tower for a long time, would you like for me to call him down?"

"No," I croak out as best as I can. Pushing off the wall, I give him the best smile I can. It no doubt comes out small and sleepy and strained, but I try. With another nod, I push off the wall and take Rauf's attitude towards me as a sign that I'm still welcomed here. "Thank you."

It's not until I'm standing before the ladder leading up to the Flanking Tower that I realize I should have probably taken Rauf up on his offer to call Altaïr down. Climbing that won't be easy, but at this point, I no longer care.

I need to see him.

With that thought, I try my best to shake off the exhaustion. Rolling my shoulders and stretching my legs, I carefully tuck the pages beneath my tunic and under the waistband of my leggings. Once they're secured, I begin the climb. Ignoring the protest of sore muscles, I haul myself up and over the ledge, blood plumbing.

It's the blood racing through my veins that finally eases the exhaustion away. At least for now. So with renewed strength, I search around the rampart of the fortress, determined to find him. Even if it means climbing but the second ladder and into the actual Flanking Tower.

I don't have too, though.

He stands in the middle of the rampart, between the two flanking towers, and right where Al Mualim stood when Robert de Sabe laid siege on Masyaf. He leans forward, arms resting on the stone rail, as he watches the people below. His chin sits on top of his folded arms, body slouched in what I can only describe as crushed.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as I move to his side. Resting my own arms on the stone rail, I fight the urge to curl up into his side. "For overacting like that."

"I love you," he whispers, voice sounding tired and just so defeated. I only just stop myself from flinching at them. Though I can't stop the way my eyes water yet again and my heart throbs at those words. "Why do those words hurt you?"

Because of course he would notice my distressed without even having to look at me.

"You have a wife," I answer him truthfully. I'm not here to lie to him. I'm not even here to manipulate him—that's Minerva's job. I'm here because, even while knowing all about his wife and future children, my heart still stupidly yearns for him. "Or rather you will. In about a month's time, you will meet the love of your life and I can't keep you from her. I won't."

We lapse into silence then. I don't know what else to say, I haven't really thought of what to say. Not when my mind still refuses to work at full capacity to come up with something. I'm at a loss of where to even begin on how messed up all of this is.

Of how Minerva manipulated us both.

So instead, I watch the people walking below us and try to figure out where I've picked up this knack for people watching. Probably when I first managed to get my butt stranded here.

"What is she like?"

"Who?" I ask, distracted as I lazily watch the wind rustle the leaves of a nearby tree. A few kids run about under it, chasing each other to and fro in what appears to be a game of tag. Or at least they are until one of the guards beckons them towards him, one hand offering something I can't make out. Whatever it is the kids take it quickly before scampering off.

"My wife."

"Hmmm."

The noise is out of my mouth before I can stop it. It comes out somewhere between surprised and thoughtful. My nails, though, dig into my palms threatening to draw blood as my hands curl into tight fists. I struggle to keep any of that from my face as I think of how to answer.

His wife?

What answer can I give that isn't drenched in ten pounds of jealousy and envy and dislike? Not that I actually hate her. If it wasn't for Maria, Altaïr probably wouldn't have even been able to get through his mission in Cyprus.

Add to that that he loved her—genuinely loved her—and I have no reason to dislike her other than jealousy. Especially since she loved him back, genuinely too if she was willing to turn her back on everything she'd ever known to be with him.

Put it that way and disliking her is just selfishness combined with greed.

"She's beautiful," I whisper, resting my chin on my arms as I struggle to sallow the jealousy before it can choke me. "Brave. Strong. Determined. She's perfect for you," I whisper ignoring the way Altaïr straightens up from his slouch and finally turns to look at me. "She's an English woman, a petite, brown-haired, little thing that can and will give you a run for your money."

Even though I know I have no reason to feel the tide of emotions currently wreaking havoc within me, I still do. Previously soothed by his presence my heart begins to throb again but I don't care. Not anymore.

Too tired to keep feeling anything but the desperate need for sleep, I ignore it as I continue to watch the people below. Slumping further against the wall, I uncurl my hands and rest them flat against the sun, savoring the warmth of the heated stone.

The sun shines brightly over us, covering us with its warmth. This high up, the cold winds are enough to keep us cool and ease the full force of the sun and its heat. Still, I savor it and the warmth that bleeds into my skin from the sun-warmed stone.

"What is her name?" Altaïr asks after a long moment of almost peaceful silence. I just hum again, not answering as I lazily open my eyes. I hadn't even noticed them shutting and probably would have fallen asleep if he hadn't spoken.

"I can't tell you that now, can I?" I tease, stretching as I finally realize it might just be time to call it a day. Regardless if I have to sleep alone or not, I'm at my limit. With the help of the sun's warmth, the exhaustion has come back, full force. "That would be cheating."

With those words I stand up, muscles begging to stretch. I let them, arms going up in the air as I finally lock eyes with Altaïr. He says nothing as I stretch though he doesn't bother to hide the way his eyes trail over me.

"You will have a wife one day and you will love her as deeply as you did Adha, if not more so," I tell him, surprisingly no lump builds in my throat as I say this. Nor do tears build in my eyes as I lay it all out for him. As I finally come to a decision. "But I still love you, I've always loved you. So I'm not going to make the choice, not this time."

Pulling the pages out from under my tunic I hand them to him. They're only a few of the codex pages. The ones from March 15th and March 20thwere I had decided both to give him to Maria and selfishly kept him for myself and others that had continued to pop up every time I had questioned if what I was doing was right.

This is risky.

I know it is.

The codex pages reveal too much. Probably more than I realize but I can't do this. Not by myself because this decision just isn't only mine to make. It's his too. He has as much right to know just what he will lose as he does to know what the future has in store for us.

"I'm tired of always being the one to decide," I tell him as he takes them, eyes slowly going over the first page. "I can't choose this time, I can't. I love you too much," I tell him eyes going back to looking over the city. "So I'm leaving this one to you. I want you to make this choice because I will always question if my decision was the best one for you or if it was the best one for me."

"Jen," he begins, hand going up to cup my cheek. I let him, savoring the warmth of his palm as he pulls me back to look at him. "Jen, I lo—"

"These pages are yours. They're from a codex you'll write one day but my presence here causes them to change every day. Read them," I tell him, cutting him off as I pull away from his grip. "Read them all and then, if you still feel the same. If you can still say it without any trace of doubt, then say them to me all you want. But please don't say them now. They hurt too much to hear."

With words, I turn away from him, fully intending to go back home and finally getting some much-needed rest. Yet, I don't even make to the ladder before he calls after me.

"I leave for Arce tomorrow morning."

Freezing in my tracks, I take a deep, steadying breath. It takes all I have not to run back into his arms and kiss him goodbye. Instead, I muster up a small, yet genuine smile from somewhere as I turn back to face him. There's a smile on his face, a sad one that speaks of unease as he still holds the papers.

"Safety and Peace, Altaïr," I tell him, smiling wider when the smile on his face turns fond at my words. My heart yearns to be buried in his arms. It wants nothing more than to curl up into his chest and never let him go.

Awe, fuck it.

I'm in his arms before I even realize I'm running towards him. His arms wrap around me instantly, pulling me tight against him. Taking just a quick moment to savor the feeling of finally being in his arms, I bury my head into his neck as I throw my arms around them

"I'll be waiting for you," I whisper against his skin, nuzzling into his neck. He holds me tighter, almost as if he fears I'll disappear as soon as he lets me go. It takes everything I have then to pull back, even more so when he's just as reluctant to release me. "So hurry home, okay?"

"Always," he whispers back, that fond smile still on his scarred lips and I don't want to let him go. I don't want to leave him. Standing under the warmth of the evening sun and overlooking the bustling city of Masyaf I can imagine if I don't.

I can picture our days together. Here in this mysterious, dangerous fortress surrounded by people who would probably prefer to have us dead (previously Abbas and soon Al Mualim) and I would never regret a moment of it. Not if it meant I would get to spend it with him. Even if it meant helping him run The Brotherhood because let's not forget he'll be The Grand Master soon.

I would spend forever with him if I could.

I really, really would.

One last kiss can't hurt, right?

I pull him into me before I can think of all the reasons why it could hurt. Smashing our lips together, I let all the desperation and jealousy and pain bleed into the kiss. He meets it with desperation of his own making the kiss all sorts of rushed and fiery and, well, desperate. Soon, though, the emotions bleed out. The desperation weans, turning the kiss sweet and slow and soft.

It's a goodbye.

This time the tears don't stay away. They come full force, slipping out from my closed eyes before I can stop them. It's only by a short-lived miracle that I manage to pull away from him before he can notice them. I refuse to let him see me again.

So, instead, I run away from him yet again.


	4. Part Two: Chapter 3

**Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 _Kenny Chase:_

Sometimes he wonders if he did something wrong. If he did something unspeakably horrible in some distant past life. Or if his future deeds will be so bad that Karma has decided him to punish him beforehand just so it will amount to the horrors he will commit.

Whatever the answer may be even he can't believe that he's done or will do something horrible enough to deserve this.

Happiness is but an arm's reach away. He knows it is. As he gazes at Ezio's face, relaxed in a well-deserved nap and awkwardly sprawled across the couch in a position that can in no way be comfortable, he has to fight the need to pull him close. To pull the man out of his awkward slouch and push him to stretch across the couch.

And if doing so will put Ezio's head on his lap, so what? It's not like Ezio hasn't done it of his own accord before. Still, he holds back. He keeps his hands firmly planted in his lap even as his eyes never stray from Ezio's face.

He looks younger when he sleeps.

He looks unburdened by the weight of revenge for his father and brothers' deaths. Asleep as he is, the years spent fighting for his life one day and worrying for the wellbeing of his mother and sister the next melt away. Leaving behind something that looks a lot like that young, seventeen-year-old who had his childhood ripped away from him by the greed of others.

He looks happy, as he mumbles something in his sleep and slumps further into the couch cushions.

Maybe he did commit some unspeakable horrors in his past life. He must have to end up the way he has now. Disowned by his family and trying not to yearn so obviously for the scraps of attention the Hernandez's throw his way.

Not that they don't give him more than enough. They treat him as one of their own and better than his own mother ever did. Better even than his absentee father that was always off working and never around.

But it's not the same.

It doesn't fill the hole in his heart that yearns for their love. It doesn't soothe the little abandon boy inside of him that cries for his mother's attention. Or the young fourteen-year-old who looked out into a sea of people, high school diploma clutched proudly in his hands, only to see no one waiting for him.

No. Wait. That's not right.

The Hernandez's had been there. They always have been even when his own family hadn't bothered to show up. He can still remember a ten-year-old Jen screaming her lungs out, big, neon-blue board held as high above her head as she could.

 _"You did it, Ken!"_ scrawled at her best attempt at calligraphy. It had been God awful, honestly, and almost completely illegible but the sight of it had eased the throb in his heart. He had treasured that sign for years. If only because it meant one thing to him. Messy scrawl and plain words aside, he had treasured it as the only proof he needed to know that the Hernandez's _cared_.

They had been there, during his biggest accomplishment so it was no surprise to see them during his biggest failure.

He can still remember the car crash with a vivid memory. Can still see the bright headlights of a car going too fast to stop, can still hear the squeal of tires desperately clinging to asphalt and the _smell_. That's the worst part. The one that makes everything too real.

The smell of burnt out tires, ruptures oil lines, and blood.

 _So much blood._

His own family hadn't stuck around after that. They'd abandoned him and taken Anissa with them. Somedays, in his darker moments, he wonders if maybe this was his penance all along. If the reason he never had a family to begin with had been because he would one day cost Anissa her leg.

But then he wasn't alone. Not even then, fresh from a car crash, stitches holding many parts of his skin closed, and disowned, had he woken up alone.

Jen had been there, tears streaming down her face and hand clutching his so tightly it had stayed numb long after she had finally let go. They had all been there. Mrs. Hernandez, Alexis, and even Mr. Hernandez had been crowded around his bed, a strange mix of relief and grief on their faces.

It had been then that he realized they were the only family he ever really had.

So he has them, the family he so deeply cherished but he's man enough to admit that having a family scares him. So he shies away. He puts distance between Mrs. Hernandez's attempts to coddle him and tries to ignore the proud, fatherly looks Mr. Hernandez's throws his way if only so they won't get tired of him.

He tries so hard not to outstay his welcome.

If his own family didn't want him, why would they?

 _Why would Ezio?_

And that's the question isn't? The one he's been trying so hard to pretend he has no reason to ask himself, because Ezio doesn't really want him, right?

It's just a passing fancy, right?

 _Right?_

Jen says otherwise, of course. Or well she hints at it with her knowing looks and smiles. And he may be dense, but Ken's not an idiot. He can see how the whole family looks at them when Ezio so much as glances his way. He can see the softening look in Mrs. Hernandez's eyes as some long-buried worry for him melts away.

The worry that he'll end up alone.

Sometimes he wonders when their attitudes changed. When Altaïr and Ezio had first arrived, priority number one had been to get everyone back to their appropriate timelines and close the swirls. Priority number two, unbeknownst to Jen, had been to keep the two from falling in love and experiencing unavoidable heartbreak.

Now?

Well, now he's not so sure what the end goal is. Not when everyone has been gently suggesting that Jen breaking things off with Altaïr might not be for the best. And, honestly, he can see why they would think that way, too.

With just one look at Jen's face, he can see why the whole family is so hesitant to even attempt to split them up as they should have since the beginning. And it's all because she's happy.

Unlike anything, they've ever seen before. She's out and about and not locked up every day in her room, ignoring the world. She's trying. She's _living._ She's mending long broken bridges and just going out and living her life.

 _She's free._

So why can't he be too?

Why can't he let himself have this? Why can't he shake the chains that bind him to his corner of solitude and let them all in? Why can't let himself be happy for once?

So what if it all ends in pain?

He'd rather have even an amount of Ezio's passing lust than sit here wondering what could have been. If only so he can finally stop being alone.

 _Happiness is but a hand's reach away._

Ezio's body is warm under his hands when he finally allows himself to touch. The muscles under his fingers are firmer than he would have imagined but yet Ezio allows himself to be moved easily. He even shifts towards him when Kenny pulls him across the couch.

Ezio's head is heavy and just as warm as the rest of him when it falls into his lap. He can't keep the smile off of his face then, small as it may be, Ken lets it come onto his lips as he runs his fingers through Ezio's hair.

And when those brown eyes open, sleepy and dazed and yet no less bright, and a soft, warm smile comes over those scarred lips, Ken thinks _, "Yeah."_

 _Maybe it's time to reach._

~oOo~

 _Jennifer Hernandez:_

Life waits for no one.

It will continue to move, never stalling. Earth will continue to turn, the sun will rise every morning and set every night. Nothing will stop Earth from spinning. Not even as the whole world as you know it is ripped to shred before your very eyes.

So even though it feels as if the world has finally unfrozen, as I wake from slumber on my first day back home Jerusalem, it's with something akin to surprise that I realized it's only a few days to Thanksgiving and it's already halfway through the holiday season.

The world has continued on without me. The days have come and gone and all the houses have long since put up their decorations in preparation for Christmas. My own house has decorations I'd failed to notice in my need to escape last night.

Tinsel and wreaths decorate various parts of the house. All while a lone, bushy Christmas tree sits in the corner of the living room, forgotten and undecorated. There are boxes of lights and ornaments crowded around it, as forgotten as the tree.

"How many days are there to Thanksgiving?" I ask Kenny. He sits next to me, sprawled across the couch with me as some random movie plays on the screen. Not that we're watching it. We're both too engrossed in our own thoughts, both minds playing over last night's conversation. "Or did it pass already?"

"No, I don't think so," Ken says, absentmindedly fishing his phone out of his pocket. He glances briefly at the screen, only turning it on for a few seconds before he turns it off and tosses it down next to him. "We have twelve days to Thanksgiving."

My hum is ignored by both of us as we dive back into our thoughts. Mine, of course, instantly go back to Altaïr. Circling between stressing about what decision he will come to and stupidly wondering if he will be back in time for Thanksgiving.

"I need a vacation," I mumbled to Kenny, slumping deeper into the couch as I do. My sore muscles both protest the moment and relish the shift as they relax against the soft cushions. Still, as tired as I am, my leg doesn't still. My knee bounces restlessly as my body begs me to move.

 _To do something._

"You technically just came back from one," he answers, sparing me a disbelieving glance as he does. He's almost as sore and tired as I am, but nowhere near as restless. In fact, he looks seconds away from taking a very well earned nap. "And you saw how well that went."

"It doesn't count as a vacation if you're almost killed."

"True," he agrees without a fuss, eyes drifting shut. He relaxes further into the couch, no doubt fully intending to give in to the need for sleep. He even goes as far as to toss one of his long legs over mine, effectively stilling it's not so quiet bouncing. "But where would you even want to go?"

"Venice?"

It's mostly a joke. The answer comes out with no actual thought on my part. It's an automatic response to something I had been contemplating about days ago. Thoughts of going to Venice had been on mind since Ezio's swirl first opened and, despite the disaster my trip to Jerusalem was, I don't see any reason not to go.

"I thought you wanted a break," Ken says, one eye slitting open to pin me with an unbelieving stare. I just shrug, eyes going back to the long-forgotten movie on the screen.

"There's nothing for us to do in Venice except sightseeing," I tell him, shrugging. "Ezio's time doesn't really need us to intervene. At least not until he defeats the Borgia Pope. Then we have to warn him to evacuate Monteriggioni before Cesare Borgia attacks and kills Uncle Mario. Oh and kidnaps Leonardo too."

"This is doing nothing to convince me to go."

"Well how about this," I tell him, sitting up and pushing his leg off my mine. He sits up too, nap forgotten as he realizes I'm being serious now. "Ezio's time isn't anywhere near as dangerous for us as Altaïr's. As far as I remember, there aren't guards ready to chase you all across Ezio's world outside of the major cities unless you gain notoriety. But it's been awhile since I played the games so I could be wrong."

"Still not convinced."

"Alright, well, right now, game-wise, we're actually on a break between major missions for Ezio," I try again. "He has nothing big to attend to, which is why he's always been here with us since the swirl open. In fact, this is the part of his life the game completely jumps over because there's just nothing interesting going on, which means there's really no danger to him or any other Assassins up until his birthday where he is told about the apple by…what was her name?"

"If you don't know, I have no hope of knowing."

"Right, I think it was Rosa, but whatever. Point is it's an almost peaceful time for Ezio right now so what better time to take a trip to Venice but _before_ shit hits the fans and he has to fight the Borgia?"

"And if it isn't peaceful?" he asks trepidation in his voice as grabs his phone and lights the screen up. "What are we going to do if we get attacked?"

"Will take weapons, of course!" I tell him, watching as he taps away at his phone screen. "And Ezio, we can't forget about Ezio."

"What about me?" Ezio asks, coming out from the kitchen, a bottle of water in one hand and a mug in the other. He hands the mug to Kenny before scooping up Kenny's still outstretched legs and plopping down in between us. He settles Kenny's legs on top of his own, skillfully ignoring the slight blush on the other's cheeks. "I only understood a few words of that, but I think my English is definitely improving."

"I'm trying to convince Ken we should take a trip to Venice," I tell Ezio as he opens his bottle of water and takes a deep, long pull. "Say, how long does it take to get to Venice anyways?"

"On horseback? Two or three days. Depends on how hard you push the horses," Ezio says as he pulls the bottle away from his lips. "If you do not care about your horse breaking down, you could probably make the trip in a day and a half. Though your horse will probably not survive the trip."

"So let's just say three days, then?"

"Yes, three days sounds fair," he agrees, turning to Kenny with a slightly heartbroken look. He has the puppy eyes out full force as he does. "Why would you be against visiting Venice?"

Kenny, bless his soul, can do nothing but stutter and mumble out incomplete sentences as Ezio hits him with the full force of his puppy eyes. Unwilling to displease Ezio anymore, Kenny fumbles for an answer that won't offend Ezio.

"He thinks it's dangerous," I answer for him, snickering at the glare Kenny throws at me. Ezio just pouts at the answer. "I'm trying to convince him it's not."

"I will admit the trip is dangerous, _for an assassin_ , which neither of you are," Ezio says, a thoughtful look on his face as he considers all the points to this. "The only danger that you would face on a trip to Venice might be a bandit but you will definitely not be hunted down as Assassins. In fact, you would be relatively safe even if I were to escort you there directly."

"Oh, why is that?" I ask.

"I have not been out causing trouble," Ezio says, shrugging when I give him an incredulous look. "I have been here all this time with you lot. My notoriety actually has not increased in _weeks._ In fact, I am pretty sure the guards have even completely forgotten of my existence by this point."

"Oh, so definitely nowhere near as dangerous as Altaïr's time?"

"Absolutely not. In fact, it might even be your safest trip yet," Ezio agrees, a smile on his face. He shoots off his seat then, rushing to his feet in his excitement. Though he only stays standing for the time it takes him to bow and hold out his hand. "So how about it, Kenneth Chase? Would you allow me the honor of escorting you and Miss Jennifer to the beautiful city of Venice?"

Kenny's blush is a sight to see then. With how light and clear his face is, the blush reaches from the tips of his ears to down his neck. I can't help my giggles then, but I try my hardest to choke them down when Ken throws another glare in my direction.

"I don't know why you all insist in calling me Kenneth," Kenny grumbles in embarrassment even as he places his own hand in Ezio's. "My name is Kenny, Kenny Chase, but very well. I accept but so help me, if I die, I will come back to haunt you and your whole bloodline."

"I will not let you die, _Kenneth_ ," Ezio teases as he pulls Kenny from his seat and onto his feet. Ken yelps at the sudden pull and barely has time to catch himself on Ezio's chest lest he falls into him. "I'll protect you with my life."

 _Whelp, it seems that ship has sailed._

"We call you Kenneth exactly because your name is just Kenny Chase," I tell them him, watching the scene in front of me with a huge smile splitting my lips. "No middle name and incredibly plain. Even if we use your whole name there's no dramatic effect to it unless we go and extend it to Kenneth."

"You're one to talk, _Jennifer Hernandez_ ," Kenny says, shooting me another glare though this time it's from Ezio's arms as the older man goes to wrap one strong, sturdy arm around Ken's waist. "You don't have a middle name either."

"True but my full name is already long enough to add the necessary dramatic effect if you say the whole thing," I tell him as I stand, stretching out sore muscles. "Just like _'Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad'_ and _'Ezio Auditore da Firenze'._ You really can't lengthen _'Jennifer_ ' any more than that unless you're going to go and give me a middle name."

"You would love that, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe," I tease as I turn off the television. Ken stays in Ezio's arms for a little longer, pretending he's not melting into his arms as he does. "Anyways, are we on for a mini vacation to Venice, or no?"

"You really think your parents are going to let you go off on another adventure so soon?" Ken asks, hands still firmly pressed to Ezio's broad chest. They haven't stepped away from each other and it doesn't look like they will any time soon.

It warms my heart to see them that way too. To finally see Ken stop fighting. To see him relax and finally let something good into his life. That boy really knows how to push away all the good things in life and I can't even blame him.

With a mother like Victoria, no one can.

"They really can't say no," I tell him as I make my way out of the living room. With another trip on the horizon, I need to start packing now. Though this time, since the trip will be so short, I'll only be taking a few sets of clothes and toiletries. "Minerva seems only to be able to really hijack my dreams and talk to me when I'm on their side."

"Hasn't she done it before while you were on this side too?" Ken asks as he finally pulls out of Ezio's arms to follow me. Ezio lets him go reluctantly but there's no hiding the way his eyes trail over Kenny as he watches him move.

"Once," I correct him as we make our way down the hall and towards my room. "When Ezio's swirl opened. That's the only time she visited my dreams while I wasn't in their world. Other than that she only disturbs me when I'm over there."

"The Energy!" Ken shouts then, hands shooting out to stop me from walking into my room. Instead, they pull me back towards the living room and up the stairs before I can even fully process what he's saying.

"Ken, what energy?"

~oOo~

 _Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad:_

He doesn't look at the papers for days. They stay carefully tucked away in Hamza's saddlebag even days into his journey to Masyaf. They're not forgotten though. They stay on his mind constantly, teasing him with their existence long into the days and nights.

It's only sheer force of will and determination that keeps him from reading them the second Jennifer is out of sight. Then it's just the knowledge that he knows he's not _ready._

As much as he wants to know the answers that the papers hide, he knows he's not mentally prepared to read the words painted across the pages in black ink. He really isn't ready, not when they hold so many secrets.

Too many.

It hasn't escaped his attention how the family tiptoes around him every once in a while. How they stall, words stuck in their throats as they try to figure out whether whatever they are currently discussing is something he can be told about. Never mind that the actual papers in his hand, _The Codex Pages_ that the family has been trying not so subtly to hide from him, reveal more than even he thinks he's prepared to know about.

He's caught a glimpse of them before. Just passing glances at words written in a language he can't read as they cluttered a table or two. But, as with everything else, he knew better to ask. There's just so much at stake. So much that can could go wrong if they say the wrong thing.

Jennifer has said it herself.

 _"Ah, but the question isn't: What is Minerva hiding? It's: What she was trying to stop? What was it she saw if she showed you everything? What would happen if I just opened my mouth and told all that you would come to learn in the next few months? See the real question is: What's safe to say and what isn't?"_

And this, giving him The Codex Pages he will later come to write, seems a lot like something fairly unsafe in his opinion. Since Jennifer's first warning about the dangers of revealing too much, he's resigned himself to never being able to ask about what will come.

He's accepted that all his questions about the future Jennifer so fears are better left unanswered. So he's stayed quiet, never questioning and never peeking at the plethora of information always so carelessly strewed across their home.

That he probably wouldn't have been able to read well over half of it had never mattered to him. He'd still kept his gaze politely pointed away, instead focusing on the here, on Jennifer, and any bit of information she willing offered.

So this, being offered something from what is technically his future self is…well, intimidating is a word for it among many other things. Foolish being one of them, of course. Sure, he understands the importance of his decision on a deep, personal level, but when it comes to the greater scheme of things?

 _Why risk so much?_

Why make such a foolish move over something like this?

When he already knows what his choice will be.

Codex Pages be damned.

 _Jennifer is his._

He almost tears the papers into sherd then. Almost lets them be scattered by the wind but he doesn't. The long-buried curiosity doesn't let him. Not after having been restrained for so long. So he doesn't rip up the pages like he should. Nor does he let the wind take them.

Instead, in the dead of night by the light of a dwindling campfire, he finally pulls the pages from the saddlebags. Somewhere a cricket chirps, slow and constant while Hamza huffs into the patch of grass he's munching away at.

He stares at the papers in the dying light, more than a little tempted to simply toss them into the fire. He doesn't though. No matter how much he wants to, he can't. Not when they have answers to questions he never thought he would get to ask.

So no matter how risky and dangerous he thinks this all is, he slowly lets his eyes take in the words.

 _He's only human, after all._

 _Thirtieth of March, 1478_

 _First Entry:_

 _'She dances under the moonlight. Sways to only a beat she can hear as she stares up at the stars. Somewhere in the distance Epona knickers, hooves falling quietly on the grass as he nears her. She doesn't flinch, doesn't stop her soft swaying as he comes to her, ears perked high on his head._

 _She just giggles, no fear in her movements as she goes to place her hands on his cheeks. He allows it only for a moment. He soaks up the warmth of her hands for a few seconds before he starts to bob his head. The giggles grow in volume and numbers as she follows the beat of his nods._

 _Soon they're dancing to a beat all their own as the stars shine down on them._

 _She knows him, trusts him so deeply she doesn't startle when he begins to paw at the ground. She only giggles harder. That's all it takes. It's not too long before they're off frolicking in the distance, slowly chasing each other across the wide open pasture._

 _"She was made for this," I whisper, not to her or the horse she so deeply trusts. No, I whisper to the babe quietly slumbering in my arms. "She was made to be here, with me, with us."_

 _Despite so many doubts, so many trouble and so many pains, she belongs here. Under the moonlight, living a life free as the wind that brings her giggles to our ears._

 _Even in his sleep, the babe smiles at the sounds of her giggles, comforted by them._

 _Yes, Jennifer belongs here.'_

 _Seventh of April, 1478_

 _Second Entry:_

 _'Giggle sounds, soft and low. Somewhere there are sounds of rustling hay as boot-clad feet shuffle through it, disturbing the otherwise quiet night. The guards on duty pay it no mind, content to ignore the giggles and rustling when it's already so late._

 _In the dead of the night, with only torches to keep the darkness away, danger lurks so they keep at bay. Willfully ignoring the rustles and the giggles, they continue on their patrols, never stopping even as the giggles grow louder._

 _I follow them._

 _Let them lead me deeper into heavily guarded territory as we scale the walls of some otherwise peaceful building._

 _I catch glimpse of her as go. Just small glances of a body as it disappears over a ledge or around a corner. Always just within sight before disappearing again with another litany of small, quiet giggles. But I don't speed up, I don't hurry to catch her._

 _Content to just follow her, I let her lead me up._

 _Up a tower, over a ledge, and to the top of a flanking tower of a building I haven't bothered to remember or identify. Not when my whole attention is centered on her and her giggles and the leisurely chase of my prey._

 _She stops when she finally reaches the top._

 _She stands there, back straight and shoulders heaving. Facing the moon that sits high and full in the dark sky, she stares at it. It bathes her in its glow. Showers her in pale light the makes her skin glow ivory._

 _Ethereal._

 _And when she turns, hood pooled around her neck and long brown hair styled in tight braids, there's a smile on her face. Bright and wide and oh so full of life. One that only deepens as pale blue eyes land on me._

 _"Maria."'_


	5. Part Two: Chapter 4

**Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 _Jennifer Hernandez:_

The streets are as bustling as ever. The people come and go under the setting sun. They go about their daily lives even as a heavy tension rests in the air. Guards patrol the city more heavily, eyes narrowed and shoulders tensed as they go.

More than once, narrowed eyes land on me. They harden when they do, but only for the briefest of seconds before they dart away. The heavy glares don't last too long, at least not from the guards. It's the glares of the civilians that last longer.

They linger, watching me, assessing me. After the commotion of our arrival with a severely injured Abbas, I'm not surprised that they do. We'd made quite the scene arriving as we had. Especially since we had kept everyone from helping Abbas out too.

Factor that in and I'm surprised no one has done more than glare.

Still, glares or no, I keep my head held high as I make my way towards the Masyaf gates. Those who don't glare at me, stare simply because I'm a sight to see. My face is a patchwork of bluish bruises only just beginning to yellow, leaving them a sickly green at the edges.

Ignoring them as best as I can, I slip out of the gates and head towards the stables with only one goal in mind.

 _Epona._

Basil exits the stables just as I pass through the gates. A chestnut horse trails behind him on a lead, ears perked forward as it goes. Despite that the horses almost towers him, Basil shows no hint of nervousness or fear as he hands the horse over to a waiting Assassin.

"Ah, there you are," Basil says once the horse has followed after it's new handler. "I was going to send word to you about Hafiz's condition, but then I realized no one quite knows where you run off to when Altaïr is away."

"Hafiz? You mean the black one with bits of white?" I ask, ignoring the rest as my heart begins to race. Fearing the worst, it takes a lot not to rush him for answers. "Is he okay?"

"The black stallion, yes. I had the farrier look at him per The Master's instructions," Basil answers, something like worry in his voice as he steps back and nods for me to follow him into the stables. "While there are no broken bones the sprains he has sustained are more than tad bit concerning."

 _Farrier?_

Isn't that just someone who puts shoes on horses? Wait, when you think about it like that, it would make sense he was called to look at Epona. They work on horses' feet, after all.

He talks as we pass by stalls, some empty and some filled with curious horses who nicker as we pass. More than one eagerly paws at their door.

None of it fully registers, though. The stalls and horses pass by in a blur as one word circles around my head, frighteningly real and horribly possible as my eyes land on where Epona stands, one leg cocked and noticeably swollen.

 _Laminitis._

Horses, for all their grace and prowess, where built ridiculously stupid. Bearing all one thousand plus pounds on only four digits (one on each leg), prone to overeating until they drop dead, and with a surprising inability to throw up no matter what they consume. The ways in which they can die are surprisingly simple.

And Laminitis can be brought on by a number of ridiculous ways. Eating overly nutritious being one of them and bearing too much weight on one leg (to make up for keeping weight off an injured leg) being another. It's why they say a broken leg means death for a horse.

With so much weight and only four legs to carry it, putting too much weight or strain on one leg can lead to a host of horrible problems like bruising, sprains and—worst of all—the swelling of the tissues that quite literally keep their hoof wall glued to their bone.

 _Laminitis._

Once those tissues start to go, it's a hard-fought battle to recover in my own timeline. I can only imagine what it is like here, where _human medicine_ is practically a horror story.

This is not good.

Not good at all.

"What exactly did the Farrier say?" I ask even though my mind is already racing with all the things I can remember from spending time at my grandparent's ranch and all that I can Google as soon as I get home.

"There is quite a bit of swelling in his right hind fetlock as you can see," he says and yes I can. The joint is bigger than it should be. "This has made him noticeably lame, of course, and his refusal to bear any weight on it had originally made us assume it had been broken."

"But it isn't, right?"

"No, it is not," Basil agrees but there is nothing reassuring in his voice even as he says it. "Despite it being sprained, he is will bear weight on it when made to trot. There is no broken bone, at least."

 _"At least,"_ I echo, the dread is a heavyweight in my stomach as I watch Epona limp to the water trough. "He's going to need something for the swelling and to relieve the pain."

"Ah, yes the Farrier has already given us a poultice to apply daily," Basil says, handing me a jar of a brownish-red _something._ "It is a bit difficult to do so, though. Give how much pain he is in, Hafiz is much more likely to kick me than to let me apply the poultice."

"Right," I choke out, wondering just what is in the jar. But not even my level of curiosity is enough to get me to open it. "Well, I got a better idea. Give me some time and I'll be back with something much better than…this…"

"Better?" he asks, doubt in his voice as he takes the poultice back. "This was prescribed by a farrier, what could be better than that?"

"Just wait, I'll be right back."

I can't keep from running as I race out of the stables and to the swirl. I don't even bother to stop as more than one guard yells after me to slow down before I hurt someone.

Google is opened before I even make it out of the pillow pit. The fact that I even had my phone on me to begin with is a miracle I don't take for granted as I climb out of the pit and search Google for anything helpful.

"Hun?" Mother calls, slight concern in her voice as I pass her by in the hallway, nose practically glued to my phone. Which is quite honestly surprising considering I don't know where my phone is half the time. "Is everything okay?"

"What anti-inflammatory is safe to give to a horse?" I ask her even I continue to scroll Google for the same answer. But all I get from it are medications I've never heard of, much less those I can easily get access to.

"I…I wouldn't know," Mother says, something like a frown in her voice as she thinks. "I honestly haven't the slightest idea, but why ever would you need horse anti-inflammatories?"

"Epona's hurt, badly—for horses anyways," I tell her as I Google the names of all the horse medications for something over the counter. It's just my luck that most, if not all, require prescriptions and Veterinary administration. "He needs meds, strong ones."

 _Should I just kidnap a Veterinarian?_

"Try your Grandfather," Mother says as she places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "If anyone would know, it'd be him."

"Thank you!"

I'm dialing my grandparent's home phone in Mexico before she has even pulled her hand away. She walks away then, a small smile on her face as she enters her room. I make my way to my own as the line rings.

 _"¿Bueno?"_

"Grandma!" I answer, relief and happiness in my voice as I hear my Grandmother's soft voice on the other end of the line.

 _"Míja!"_ she replies, the same happiness in her tone. It turns her voice softer, sweeter and fills my mind with memories of golden sunsets and bustling market stalls. _"_ _¿_ _Y ese milagro? How are you,_ _Míja_ _?"_

We delve into pleasantries then. Catching up after months of no contact. I don't mind it. As I listen to my Grandmother's voice, most of the panic ebbs away, but not enough for me to completely forget.

"Is Grandpa there?"

 _"Sí, sí,"_ she calls from him then, the phone rustling as it exchanges hands.

 _"Míja,"_ Grandfather answers voice strong but no less fond. Now all I can think about are nights spent by campfires and days spent on horseback. _"How have you been?"_

"I've been great," I tell him and it's not a lie. All in all, I have been. Extremely so, even with the horrifying attempt on my life. "But I have a slight problem I need your advice on."

 _"A ver, dime._ _¿E_ _n qué té ayudó?"_

"There's this horse," I begin, struggling to explain without giving out the whole story. "He's lame. His right hind fetlock is noticeably swollen and he refuses to bear weight on it. I was wondering if you knew what kind of medication I can give him that doesn't involve calling a veterinarian or getting a prescription."

 _"Right hind?"_ he asks but doesn't wait for me to confirm before he continues, _"Why can't you call a vet, Míja?"_

"It's complicated," I tell him, embarrassed by the lack of explanation.

 _"Complicated like your extraterrestrial boyfriend?"_

"He's not an alien, grandpa," I say around a groan. Wait, how does he even know about him? "Let me guess, my dad told you?"

 _"But he's not of this world, right? Doesn't 'Extraterrestrial' mean 'not of this earth'?"_ he asks, smudge because he kind of has a point in a not entirely correct way—if that's even possible. _"It was your Mother actually."_

 _And she calls dad a chismoso._

"Really?," I ask, embarrassed. "Can we just talk about the horse and discuss whether or not Altaïr is an alien later."

 _"Oh, so se llama Altaï_ _r, eh?"_

"Granpaaa~"

 _"Okay, okay. If he allows it without any medication, ice the foot,"_ he continues, getting back on topic. _"If not I would suggest DMSO Gel for the inflammation and Dormosedan Gel to sedate him just enough so he'll actually let you work on him. You can probably get both at a farrier supply store if you're lucky. If not, you can probably get some off the internet."_

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I gush as I rush to my computer to Google both. I stay on the line with him as I do, delving back into talking about my recent adventures now that I know its safer to tell them everything. His ribs and teasing about Altaïr comes back now that he's told me all he's can about the gels. I laugh with him, enjoying the gentle teasing.

 _"You should come to visit us soon, Míja,"_ he says in goodbye, longing in his voice. It makes my heart ache to hear it so I rush to tell him I will before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

To my luck, the closest horse supply store is only a few cities away. Without a thought, I pull up Kenny's number and push call. While I wait for it to connect, I rush around the room, switching my tunic for a time appropriate shirt and collecting my purse and wallet.

 _"What's up?"_

"Ken! Horse emergency! Get your shit, I'm picking you up in ten," I tell him as I grab my keys and race out of my room.

 _"…But I'm in your living room,"_ Ken says just as I round the corner and spot him on the couch, Ezio perched next to him.

"Even better," I tell him as I hang up the phone. "We'll take your car, it's faster. Hurry!"

I don't bother to wait for his reply as I step out into the dewy gray morning. Where the sun was setting in Masyaf, it's only just beginning to rise here, turning the world a grayish-blue.

"It's that bad, huh?" Kenny asks later when we're all loaded up into his car and barreling down the almost empty freeway at way past 60.

In California "Speed Limit 60" translates into "If we all go 80 they can't pull us all over" and I think that's so beautiful.

"Oh yeah," I agree even as I continue to Google different stores in case this one doesn't have the gels. "And its already been almost four days since the attack."

"Not to be mean but he probably will not survive," Ezio says from the back seat, lounging against the leather seats as he watches the world whiz by. "Uncle Mario has had to put down a number of great horses with similar injuries."

"Ezio," Kenny warns, eyes locked on Ezio's through the rearview mirror.

"Giving him a fighting chance is better than doing nothing at all," I say, voice strong even though the dread continues to sit heavy in my stomach. "He deserves that much, right?"

"Right."

We make it back from the store, prize in hand, with no incident and only stop long enough to change into Masyaf Era appropriate clothing before diving through the swirl.

Ezio and Ken come with me for moral support. Both of them stay silent, serious in the face of what _technically_ is an emergency as we make our way through the streets. With the sun past setting, the city has begun to settle in for the night. The streets are emptying, so we don't meet too many harsh glares as we go.

"Basil!" I call once I reach the stables, though I don't bother to wait at the entrance for him. Instead, I make my way inside, heading straight to Epona's stall. "I'm back."

"Over here," he calls from the other side of the stable. Meeting us at Epona's stall, he eyes us wearily as I pull out the bottles of gel. "What did you bring?"

"Something to sedate him enough to let us work on him and a much better paste for his leg," I say, trying my best to explain the medication. At the sight of his doubtful expression, I try, "We got it from a Farrier from up north."

Other than a _'hmm'_ Basil says nothing. I take it as I win as I pull out the syringe of Dormosedan Gel. Having read the instructions on the way back from the store, I carefully apply the gel under his tongue. I make sure to explain everything that I do to Basil so he will be able to do it when I'm away.

"Okay, now we wait for it to take effect," I say as I pat and scratch everywhere I can reach. Epona soaks up the attention, head bobbing happily every once in a while.

"It is not as bad as I assume," Ezio says as he inspects Epona's foot. "It is concerning, yes, but if you can just get the swelling down, I am sure he will pull through. With the way you were panicking, I assume it was twice as swollen."

"It's not?" I ask, eyes locked on the injured foot, taking in swelling. "It looks pretty bad, horrible even."

"That is because you are looking at it with a mother's eye," Ezio says, fondness in his voice as he throws an arm over my shoulder and draws me close. "The sprain is painful, yes, but nowhere near fatal. I may not be much of a horseman myself, but I am sure he would have recovered on his own."

"But Basil—"

"Is looking with the same kind of eyes as you," Ezio says, voice still fond as he ruffles my hair. "He has raised and cared for these horses his whole life, trust me when I say that his concern comes from the same place as yours, so be wary of exaggerations brought on by fondness."

"So Epona will be okay?" I ask as Ezio pulls me tighter into his side, comfort pouring off him in waves.

"Yes, little one, he will."

~oOo~

 _Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad:_

He reads the papers late into the night. Once, twice, again and again, until they're engraved into his memory and then he reads them once more. He looks for the differences but not in the words. No, those won't change, at least not the ones on these papers.

He looks for the differences in _them._

In Jen and Maria.

They're so alike, so _similar_ he has trouble differentiating them as he reads. He forgets at times, gets so deep into reading the words that he forgets who the entry is about until he can't tell if it was supposed to be about Jen or Maria.

But the differences are there, small and insignificances but he clings to them as something that feels an awful lot like dreads pools in his stomach because he can see it. As he reads the stories about Maria, as he reads _his_ words about her, he can see himself falling in love.

 _That he does love her._

Or at least his future self will if given the chance. She's just so much like Jen. Brave, adventurous, witty, and beautiful. She has all of the qualities he admires in Jen—all the same ones that made him love Adha—that loving Maria would not be a question of _'if'_ but of _'when'_.

So he clings to the differences, reads them and ingrains them in his brain until all the reason why he shouldn't love Maria are compiled into a neat list. With _Templar_ at number one and _Selfish_ at number two _._

Because she is selfish, extremely. So much so that her need to be recognized as something more than a woman, _a wife—s_ omeone whose only job in life was to cook and clean for a husband she didn't want—had driven her to abandon her family.

To disgrace them as she ran from her obligations as an English Noblewoman and all for what?

 _Honor?_

 _Glory?_

Where's the honor in working with people hell-bent on destroying the way of life of the innocent? How is their glory in kidnapping and enslaving the poor?

 _Selfish._

The word burns itself into his brain and he clings to it as he struggles to remember why he _can't_ love Maria despite everything he reads.

But the more he reads the harder it gets.

The more he sympathizes. The more he understands why she was driven to such extremes. As he reads he begins to realize that she'd been misled. That she'd never been told the full extent of the Templar's plan.

That even as Robert de Sabe's right hand, he'd never delved into the full truth of their cause. And even as light had begun to be shed on the truth of their mission, it had been loyalty that had kept her at his side.

Because out of everyone in her life, it was Robert who had first supported her. Where her family had turned away and shunned her, Robert had welcomed her with open arms. He had accepted her as she was, feisty and with the call for adventure running through her very veins.

Where Jen's family had welcomed her need for adventure with open arms, Maria's had been curbed. Suppressed until running away had been the only option left. He can't even imagine what he would have done if their—his and Maria's—roles were reversed.

If he had been the one stuck and unable to run, to ride, to _fight_. The need for adventure is like fire in his veins. Impatient, _needy_. It demands the weight of heavy metal in his hands and the pounding of his heart. Nothing is as satisfying as the _'clang'_ of two sharp blades meeting, of the thrill of perfectly blocking your opponent's swing.

Expect maybe the feeling of steel slicing into skin. Of the give of soft flesh under harsh metal. Of the slick feel of blood gushing forward, painting everything red, staining once shiny steel. Of pained groans and whimpers slowly fading away to deathly stillness.

If Maria's need for adventure is anything like his, he's amazed she hadn't run away from home earlier. If he had been as restricted to pursue his interests as she had, he would have run from home well before his eighteenth birthday and definitely before he could have been married off.

So he sympathizes for her, despite wishing elsewise. The more he reads, the more he realizes he _could_ love her. If given half the chance, he would love Maria just as much as he had Adha, if not more so.

But he doesn't.

Not when Jen occupies his every thought. When his love for Jen surpasses anything he had ever felt for Adha. He can't love anyone else, not when his only reason to do better, _to be better,_ sits with making Jen proud.

He could be all the things he was—callous, arrogant, violent, ruthless, _murderous—_ but none of it would be worth seeing the pain and disappointment in her eyes.

Even while the words in front of him paint a love for Maria that would be greater than anything he ever felt for Adha, he knows that he won't ever feel it. Not anymore.

His very reason for being has changed.

It's no longer the thirst for blood and need for destruction and death that drives him. Despite how eagerly he once sought it before, the feeling of his blade sinking into his latest target doesn't bring the all-consuming satisfaction as before.

It doesn't lessen the need in his veins. Nor does it alleviate the tightness in his chest. It only grows. As he sinks the white feather in the pool of blood of yet another victim, his chest throbs sharply.

 _Was this death necessary?_

No, nothing drives him like Jen.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hi! _(Giggles nervously)_

Look, there's a chapter... _finally_...and its' decently long _(3,600+ Words)_ so no hard feelings, right?

But seriously, I'm sorry for the wait. Life has been one hell of a ride these last few months and my muse ran away with my will to live _(I'm only partially joking here [good mental health is not my forte])_ but it suddenly came back, in the middle of the night, of course. So I stayed up all night to present this masterpiece to you guys _(I wrote this instead of sleeping)_. Hope you guys liked it!

Thank you for reading!

P.s. I'm sorry for the mini Horse Hoof Care Lesson but I didn't pay $200+ for the class to _not_ talk about it.

(Disclaimer: Well, I had my fair share of interaction with horses, I wasn't actually raised around them so all I've written is what I _attempted_ to learn in my classes. If I got anything wrong, I truly apologize. It was a hard class to pass.)

 **Spanish Translations:**

"¿Bueno?" - "Hello"

"Míja!" _ "My child!"

"¿Y ese milagro?" - "And this miracle?"

"Sí, sí," _ "Yes, Yes"

"A ver, dime. ¿En qué té ayudó?" - "Let's see, tell me. What doI help you with?"

Chismoso - Gossiper

"Oh, so se llama Altaïr, eh?" - "Oh, so his name is Altaïr, huh?"


	6. Part Two: Chapter 5

**Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 _Jennifer Hernandez:_

The walk back up to the swirl is less stressful than the one going to the stables. With my worries eased, thanks to Ezio's words, we make the walk home slowly. Almost reluctantly, as we leave Epona behind with Basil and a full list of instructions, though I have vague plans to come back and help.

The sun has gone down almost all the way when we finally make our way home. The world is bathed in dark blues and purples as the sun disappears behind the mountains and hills. The yellow glow of torches fights back the encroaching darkness as best as they can.

Still, the world is dark, the shadow longs, and the deeper they get, the more our carefree attitude fades. The eerier everything turns as the night swallows the last rays of the sun. Soon we move in complete silence, mindful of making too much noise and drawing unwanted attention.

Al Mualim had said, as Altaïr's apprentice, this is as much my home as any other Assassin. Though, without Altaïr here to keep the harsh glares away, it doesn't feel nearly as inviting as it should. We're no one's favorite people right now and Altaïr hasn't been since the siege of Masyaf.

So we scurry along, going faster as the world darkens until we're at the swirl and only a jump away from home. Even when we reach it, we don't linger. We jump through instantly, waiting only long enough to give each other time to clear the pillow pit.

"So any closer to actually being able to explain what _'The Energy'_ is?" I ask, settling onto one of the computer chairs once we've all made it through.

Ezio, the last to make the jump, lingers in the pillow pit. He sags against them, looking dangerously close to sleep. Ken throws him a quick look, brows drawn together in what looks like exasperation before he grabs his notes and shuffles through them.

"No closer than when you ran away in the middle of my explanation," he says as he places a paper in front of me. It's filled with sketches and numbers and equations and bigger words than I have seen since my high school years. "Which was quite rude by the way."

"I didn't run."

"Snuck away then," he corrects, tone amused as he watches me look through his notes. There's no point to this and he knows it. Not when I have no prayer of knowing what any of this means and _especially_ since he can't explain it in small enough words to _make_ me understand.

It's the exact reason I had _'snuck'_ away to go visit Epona. When he'd dragged me up here after our talk of going to Venice, I'd been fully intent to listen and learn about this mysterious energy that seemed to be causing my Minerva induced _"dreams"_. But, as his attempts at explanation had only gotten more confusing as time went on, I'd taken one of his small moments of distraction to dive headfirst into the swirl and away from the frustration induced headache I could feel coming.

The fact that he didn't try to chase me down and drag me back suggests he realized it was probably for the best. Just like I can't understand what he's trying to explain, he doesn't understand it enough to explain it simply and easily.

"I have an idea," I mutter to him as I spot yet another word I have no hope of even pronouncing. "I need answers and you need someone else on your level—mentally—to help you figure this out. My answers lie in their world and yours? Well, there's only one person who's both smart enough to help and loyal enough to keep quiet about it."

 _"Leonardo Da Vinci."_

~oOo~

The boat dips and sways, rocked by the gentle current of the waves as we near the port. I list with it, letting the current lull me to and fro. It's relaxing, comforting in a way I can't explain and I lay my head on my arms and enjoy the feeling of the rocking waves and warmth of the sun on my back.

Though the calm is soon interrupted by the sounds of Kenny losing his lunch over the side of the ship.

There's not much to lose. Travel rations are always light and ours doubly so. Only stale bread and granola bars had been left for our last day of travel due to both poor rationing and being severely underprepared for a trip where our biggest threat came in the form of boredom.

And what do bored people do?

 _Eat._

Then again, the decision to actually make this trip had been almost as rash as my first solo trip to Masyaf. Meaning that we had pack nothing but the true essentials. Not that they've been all that necessary to begin with. Other than to stave off boredom, most of our meals had, surprisingly, come from the Taverns and Inns Ezio had insisted we stay at.

 _"This is supposed to be a vacation,"_ he had said when we protested stopping for the night at a cozy little Inn. It was more like a cabin, with log walls, straw beds, and candlelit rooms. _"And a vacation does not include sleeping on the dirt."_

So we'd spent that last two nights sleeping in warm little Inns and eating at the first taverns to cross our paths come midday. A true vacation, really. Where our only hardships were boredom and being saddle sore after a long day spent on horseback.

 _Peaceful, really._

Well, up until the seasickness hit.

"You almost made it," I tell Kenny, as he leans over the boat again, the last of our meager lunch coming up. I glance up from where I'm slouched against the railing of the ship, arms resting atop it and watch as he pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "We're half an hour from port, tops."

Kenny simply groans, slumping over the rail next to me, as Ezio runs a soothing hand along his back. Belatedly, I realized I should have packed some Benadryl for this very situation. I knew we would have to board at least one ship on this particular adventure and seasickness can hit anyone.

With nothing for it, though, I just watch as Ezio hand moves up to card through Kenny's hair. It's gotten shaggier, longer. Long enough to be pulled into a short ponytail at the base of his head where it's tied with a familiar red ribbon.

 _One I'm sure I've seen on a particular Assassin before._

Ezio pulls the ribbon then, letting the damp blonde hair fall free. The wind picks it up almost instantly, drying the sweat-soaked strands, even as Ezio continues to run his fingers through them. Kenny leans into the fingers on his head, eyes closed.

Having shed his dark green doublet long ago, due both to the sun shining over the water too brightly to comfortably wear the leather doublet and feeling more than a little nauseous, the wind blows easily through his billowy shirt. It helps dry his clammy skin and ease some of his discomfort.

"We are almost there," Ezio whispers, both acknowledging I was correct and trying to sooth Ken as the boat continues to rock with the current. "It really should not take much longer, look."

I do. I follow his line of sight to see tall, brick buildings, all three stories minimum and huddled close together with only narrow alleyways separating them. Beautiful, white, cobblestone bridges that arch so gracefully over the canals that wind their way into the city and deceivingly crystal clear, blue waters that just beg for you to jump in and go for a swim.

But if there was anything I've ever heard of Venice, it's to stay out of the canals.

"It's beautiful," I whisper back and I continue to repeat that in my mind even as the boat docks. Though, when we make our way through the city, it quickly turns to, "I'm in love."

Where Masyaf is dangerous, looming, and dark even on the brightest days and yet strangely beautiful in all it's treacherous ways, and Jerusalem had been liking coming back home, warm and comforting and oh so serene, Venice is gorgeous.

 _Stunning._

It's pale, sun-bleached building—with intricately carved walls and archways and stoops and even balconies—that sit on smooth, almost polished, cobblestone walkways. Pathways of stone so carefully laid down that it shines brightly under the gleaming sun. It's like walking into a fairytale, where everything is radiant and glistening and enchanting.

 _Like every Princess' castle rolled up into a whole breath-taking city._

"This way," Ezio says, leading us deeper into the city. He makes sure to go slow, mindful of that fact that this is as much a sight-seeing trip as it is a mission. I basically float after him, lost in a world of fairytales, and struggling not to actually get lost as my gaze keeps going everywhere but him.

"Here," Kenny grumbles when I drift too far behind and force them to wait for me to catch up, lest I lose sight of them. Linking his arm through mine, he tugs me along, faint amusement on his face as the sturdy ground and fresh breeze help clear away the last of his sickness.

It's not too long after that we enter a very familiar cul-de-sac, one with two thick and tall trees spaced a few feet apart in the middle, and a pale red brick building that hopefully holds the answer to all our problems.

While I know it isn't fair to place so much responsibility on Leonardo's unsuspecting shoulders, we're way out of our depths here. Though I'm pretty sure Leonardo will be too—I would be surprised if he _wasn't_ —some help is better to no help. Even if we don't get any farther on that front, we have more than one reason for being here.

 _Minerva._

Though it _would_ be just my luck that even on day three of our trip I've seen nothing. _Nada_. Not a glimpse or even a whisper. Sure, my dreams are still filled with fire and ash and burning cities but Minerva herself hasn't made an appearance. Two nights have passed with neither hide nor hair of the person who singlehandedly turned my life upside down.

 _Rude._

"We are here," Ezio says, leading us through the archway and into the outdoor foyer of the building. It's a small, private thing, with minimal décor and a wooden door, beautifully carved with vines and leaves, the only thing keeping us from entering Leonardo's workshop.

Still, Ezio hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock but stopping just shy of actually touching the wood. Almost as if he _doesn't_ want us to intrude upon Leonardo's place. Which I completely understand considering, while Ezio knows us fine and well, Leonardo has never met us before and inviting complete strangers into his workshop might just be out of the realm of his comfort zone.

Just when I begin to think Ezio just might not knock after all, he does. He lets his fist fall against the door three times, hard and heavy, before casting one last calculating gaze at Ken. The look doesn't last long, it drifts back to the door just as it begins to creak open, revealing a beaming smile on a slightly scruffy face.

"Ezio!"

"Leonardo," Ezio greets back, the smile in his voice as well as on his face when he pulls the smaller man into a tight hug. "How have you been, my friend?"

"I could not ask for better days," Leonardo says as he pulls back from the hug. His hands linger though, one clasped tight on Ezio upper arm while the other stays loose where it wrapped around his waist. "Though I must say, you look much better than last I saw."

"Last time you saw me I may or may not have been involved in a bit of an altercation."

"I would not be surprised if you had," Leonardo huffs around a laugh, smile widening and eyes going bright as they finally flick to us. "You brought friends! Would I be wrong to assume they are brothers of your creed?"

"It depends on you ask," Ezio says amused smile on his face as he steps out of the way to introduce us. Leonardo's hands fall away almost reluctantly then, but the smile never leaves his face as he steps forward to greet us. "Leonardo, these are very dear friends of mine, Kenny Chase and Jennifer Hernandez."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Leonardo says to Kenny first, right hand coming up to lay over his heart as he bows.

It's only then that I notice the rigidness in Kenny's body. Despite that his arm is still linked with mine, I don't realize he's tensed until he moves, rather stiffly, to pull his arm from mine and copy Leonardo's greeting bow. Though, once I finally do, I can do nothing more than give him a confused look that he doesn't even see. Not when his eyes are firmly locked on Ezio. A thousand questions in that probing gaze.

 _Uh-oh._

"The pleasure is all ours, we've heard so much about you," I cover for Kenny, gently nudging him out of Leonardo's way and behind me. Hoping to distract Leonardo from Kenny's absolute lack of enthusiasm, I dip into a very dramatic curtsey, flaring the skirt of my pale blue dress out as I do. "We're sorry for dropping by so suddenly."

"It is more than alright, my dear. A friend of Ezio is a friend of mine," Leonardo says, bowing back. If he's at all put off by Kenny's behavior he doesn't show it as he steps back and ushers us inside. "Please come in, come in, and let me know what I can do for you."

We shuffle in then and I almost have to drag Kenny in after me when he doesn't make a move to follow. At the first tug of his sleeve though, he lurches forward, reluctant legs tangling under him for a second before he straightens out and steps into the workshop.

While I want nothing more to look and poke and admire the full extent of Leonardo's slightly cluttered workshop, I find myself looking at Ken instead. He's still tense, quiet in a way I hadn't expected as he lingers near the door almost as if he wants to turn right back around and forget this half-baked scheme.

"Please ignore the mess," Leonardo says as he hurries to shove some of the clutter off one of the tables. "I am not used to having to entertain. My services tend to require me to work at a client's home rather than for them to come here."

"It's more than fine," I answer him as I toss down my pack by the door. It's a light one, several times lighter than the one I took to Jerusalem with only a change of clothes, basic toiletries, and an empty water bottle, but it's still a nice to be able to put it down. "We really don't want to impose. We were just hoping you'd be able to help us with a small problem."

"Is this about the Codex pages?" Leonardo asks as he drags a few stools to the table he's cleared and motions for us to sit down. With another tug, Kenny follows me to the stools, still a bit rigid, but tuning back into the subject at hand as he nods.

"In a way," he says, eyes going to look up at Ezio. He still stands, leaning against a nearby column. There's only one question in his gaze now, one asking just how much he _can_ Leonardo. There has to be a limit somewhere, right? Some boundaries and rather than trip over them, he sends the question Ezio's way.

It's better to have Ezio fill Leonardo and omit whatever he feels is necessary than to let something truly secret slip.

So Ezio tells Leonardo.

He starts from the beginning. The true beginning. The one where Altaïr crashed through my living room ceiling, having travel eight hundred and twenty-three years into the future all on the whims of some deranged goddess who thought we were the answers to all her prayers.

"That is…that is…well it is something, all right," Leonardo says sometime after Ezio finished. His gaze is on us, wide and curious and almost revering as he looks us over. He believes Ezio almost instantly. Of course he does. He was the first one to know about us in this world, after all. The first one to decode the ever-changing Codex pages and read our story. We sit in silence as we give him time to finish processing the story.

"You are Jen," he suddenly says, recognition entering his eyes then. Excitement as well as he connects my name to its shortened version. The one most commonly used even in the Codex pages themselves. "The Grand Master's wife."

"Oh, ah, no," I correct him, cheeks flushing in embarrassment when the happy look on his face morphs to confusion. "That would be Maria, Maria Thorpe."

"But I thought he left her for you," he says, more confused now as he turns to give Ezio a questioning look. "Or, rather, with your appearance—the time-traveling women who turned his very meaning of life on its head—he never falls in love with Maria."

"It changes," Ezio cuts in, sparring me from coming up with an answer to that. "And very often. Though at this moment I would say you are very right in calling her Altaïr's future wife—as that was what the most recent codex entry pointed to—he has yet to meet Maria."

"Ah, so the possibilities that might result from their encounter are still endless."

"Exactly," Ezio says as I try very hard to ignore the way my heart jumps at his words and have to keep myself from asking if he read that before we left for Venice, because that would mean— "Now, I know it is unfair of us to impose on you with such a matter, but we are at a loss ourselves on just how to get the answers we need."

"We know the possibilities of you being able to help us are slim to none," Kenny begins, rummaging through his pack to pull his notes out. "The language barrier alone is going to be hard to overcome—in writing that is—but anything helps at this point."

"Language barrier? But I can understand you just fi—oh," Leonardo mumbles as Ken hands him the notes and he sees the papers scribbled with English. "Wait, could you not transcribe these into Italian? You two speak fairly well to not be able to—oh, wait, you cannot! Or rather you _should_ not be able to."

"No, we really shouldn't," I agree with a shrug. "But one surprising gift we've gotten out of this whole mess is that we can. But other than being able to speak and understand languages we've never have before, we can't read or write it."

"Then can you truly speak it then?" Leonardo says, curiosity thick in his eyes as they narrow. "Do the words that come out of my mouth and into your ears sound Italian?"

"No, they're English."

 _"And if I switch to Latin, would you be able to tell the difference?"_

 _"No, not at all."_

"But the words that just came out of your own mouth are as fluent as my own Latin, if not more so," he says, bemusement in his words and on his face. "You are after the source and objective of this mysterious energy from our world, while I think I have found it. Tell me, when did you first notice your ability to speak and understand a language you never knew?"

"It was Kenny, actually," I tell him. "He was the one who noticed it first. As for when, well when Altaïr first showed up. Ever since I first spoke to him I could understand him."

"Ah, but Kenny could not?"

"No," Kenny answers his gaze swinging to me with shock. "I couldn't. I couldn't understand either of you at least not until—"

"You fell through the swirl with me," I finish for him, still a little confused as I struggle to see how all this lines up. "But my parents could understand Altaïr. From day one, they've been able to speak to him. Alexis too."

"Would I be right in saying they were in your home on that night?" Leonardo asks as he searches through the notes, eyeing the maps and sketches with interests as he does. "While Kenny was not?"

"Yes actually."

"Then there you go," he declares as he sets down the graph of energy spikes in front of us. "While I cannot say _exactly_ what the energy did to you, I assume that its purpose was to give you the ability to translate multiple languages in an instant. In short, it altered you and your families' brains on the night the first swirl opened and then Kenny's on his first trip through. I must also assume that whatever has the power to do that comes directly from our world. Regretfully, how and why and _what_ are out of my realm of expertise."

"Well, aren't we idiots," I mumble when the shock of such a simple answer finally wears off enough for me to answer.

"Sometimes the hardest answers to find are the simplest ones,' Leonardo soothes, a small smile on his face as he stands and stretches. "And hidden plain sight. In fact, I am more than positive the _'how, why, and what'_ are already there, locked away in your mind and labeled as too obvious to be the answer.

"And I am more than happy to help you uncover them," he says as he begins to walk away, moving through an archway and out of sight as he calls back, "but first let me provide you with foods and drinks, it has been a rather long day. For you lot especially, I am sure."

He's not wrong. The story itself had taken a few hours to tell with the detail necessary to have Leonardo _fully_ understand it. Though the hours had passed quickly and unnoticed, now that Leonardo has pointed them out, I can feel the pain slowly building from sitting on a hard stool for so long.

With a groan, I stand and stretch, limbs tensing painfully before they go limp and I sag back onto the stool. There's nowhere more comfortable to sit so instead I perch on the edge of it, leaning more than actually sitting.

"Fifty bucks the answer is the apple," I tell Kenny as he stands up to stretch too, long limbs going high over his head.

"I would, but at this point, it probably would be."

Leonardo shuffles back into the room then, a tray of bread, cheese, and leftover sliced roast in his hands. Ezio moves to help him then, automatically taking the tray from him. It earns him a quick thankful smile before Leonardo turns to fetch a jug of water and some white, ceramic cups.

"It is not much," he says as he places them on the table and takes his seat again.

"It's more than enough," Ezio cuts him off before he can continue apologizing. "It is not like we gave you warning of our arrival to prepare, after all."

"It's perfect," I tell Leonardo as I help fill our cups with water. "Thank you."

"You know, I have been giving it some thought," Leonardo says as he takes a slice of bread and lays a piece of roast over it. "As much as I would love to keep helping, I would not be able to unless I can get a firsthand look at the situation and swirl in question. That being said, I would be honored if you would allow me to accompany you on your journey back."

"Are you sure?" Ezio asks, a worried look on his face as he takes a look around the workshop. "I know you have many projects pending."

"There's nothing important enough that I cannot set aside for now," he tells him, a smile on his lips as he does. "Not when something as wonderful as traveling to another world is possible. I would love to help you all with your research as well as to study it myself. Imagine the possibilities if we could be able to fully understand it. Recreate it even! Imagine the worlds we might be able to see!"

There's true excitement on his face now. Along with a smile so full and bright that Ezio has no choice but to cave. There's no way to deny a face that happy and no real reason to either, so Ezio says yes almost as soon as Leonardo turns it his way.

"All right, all right, you can come."

* * *

 **AN:**

Hey everyone.

I know it's been yet another long wait since the last chapter and I'm sorry (as always) but there is something I must get off my chest. Especially since, at the moment, it is causing me quite a bit of guilt for even considering it but, here we go.

 ** _I almost abandoned this story._**

As of September 7th, I have been struggling with whether or not to continue this story for both personal reasons and one user in particular who decided to hide behind a fake name, claim to be a fanfiction connoisseur, and tear Part One of this story (A World on Fire) to sherds. I had a flamer take it upon themselves to explain that my version of time/dimensional-travel didn't follow along with the _"obvious"_ rules of time/dimensional travel set by "The Mist", "BioShock Infinite", and "Stranger Thing"...never mind that I've never played, read, or watched either of these.

Then, after criticizing every little aspect of the story, completely ignoring that this is a work of fiction and trading a few words, they proceeded to offer writing advice, help, and a look at how truly magnificent stories are written. Their own stories to be precise. (Shameless Self Promoting if you ask me.)

While I normally would have been able to ignore an attack of this degree, sadly they hit at a time where a gust of wind could have knocked me flat on my ass. So I did the most embarrassing thing ever...I cried and seriously contemplated pulling down the whole story.

 _But we're still here, so everything is fine right?_

I wish it was that easy, but I'm going to try to continue to look past that and hopefully you'll hear from me soon. If not, just know I would never actually pull down the story. It will always be here for you to reread.

Love,

Trixy

 _P.s. I ask that no one goes after the flamer as they seem to thrive off the attention they get from people running to the defense of their favorite Stoy/Writer. I left the flames up though, if anyone is curious as to just what was said, on Fanfiction. Just please don't contact the flamer as they tend to post some very nasty things in response. (check their profile page for more info)_


	7. Part Two: Chapter 6

**A/n:** Hi!

I'm very proud to present, after three months of struggling to write this chapter and working through the aftermath of my flamer, Chapter 6!

 _Thank you all so much for your words of encouragement. They literally helped me work up the courage to power through this chapter._

I love you all!

\- Trixy

P.s: At the advice of my bestie, listen to _"_ _River Flows In You" by Yiruma_ for Ken's portion of the Chapter.

* * *

 **Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 _Alexander Hernandez:_

When he steps out into the open air, the world is darkening. The setting sun has turned the sky a golden hue that quickly darkens even more. By the time he makes it into the middle of the city, the sun has already set completely.

Aided by the tall city walls, the shadows have taken over the city well before the sun has fully set. The shadows darken the city enough that the torches have been lit long before the sun has gone all the way down past the horizon.

Despite the lit torches, the market stalls have been put away. Slowly, the city settles down to sleep for the night. The merchants pack up their wears, the shops close their doors, and the citizens shuffle home to tuck weary bodies into bed.

Well, most of them do.

Even as the night comes and the moon and stars light up the sky, the courtesans linger. Their giggles fill the quiet air. Soft voices calling, drifting on the wind to entice you to spend the night. Like sirens looking for their next meal. The guards still patrol, ever watchful of the city they've sworn to protect. And the Taverns, well, they never close.

With a grin he throws the wooden door open, allowing the smell of ale and the sounds of drunken singing to spill out into the otherwise peaceful night. Though the singing cuts off as he opens the door. All eyes shift his way, squinting and straining to land on him as they turn towards the darkened doorway.

The silence stretches, uneasy, but it only stays for as long as he stands in the shadows. As soon as he steps through and into the light, cloudy recognition registers in the few people who are sober enough to be aware of their surroundings.

They know him, after all.

 _He's practically a regular now._

The tavern is surprisingly full. The tables and bench hold an odd mix of civilians, off duty guards, and hooded individuals that he can only assume are assassins. There are women in the mix as well, lingering at tables, hanging off of arms, and nestled comfortably on laps as they giggle, charming coins off of men too drunk to protest.

 _Working_.

"Alexander!"

The cry comes from the back of the room, past most of the drunks. It comes from where a man sits, a half-full drink in one hand and a beautiful girl on his lap. She's a petite thing, dressed in enticing ruffles and revealing skirts.

A courtesan.

One with auburn hair, ivory skin, and moss green eyes. Despite the smile on her lips and the giggles that spill from them, she watches him closely. There's no hiding the sharp look in her eyes as she leans in close to the man, whispering.

"Mario."

The man only spends a second to give the courtesan a very disapproving look. One that unsettles her enough to huff in annoyance and slip from his lap. Gathering her ruffled shirts around her, she stomps off, bare feet smacking loudly against the wooden floor.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" He asks as he takes a seat in front of the other man. A mug of ale is sat in front of him almost as soon as he does. The barmaid who brings it disappearing as quickly as she came.

"Of course not, my friend," Mario answers as he throws back the last of his ale. Downing it in one easy go, he slams the mug back down on the table hard enough to raddle it. "Now then, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"The children are away," he answers, simple and easy as he takes the first drink of his ale. It's thick, frothy, and bitter, with a taste that can only be described as liquid bread. Still, he drinks, swallowing until there's more than half gone. " _All_ of them."

"Then it would seem that the perfect opportunity has finally arisen," Mario agrees, the smile already on his lips morphing into something secretive and cunning. Raising his empty mug in the air, he motions the barmaid for a refill. "And the Missus?"

"Duty calls," he says, finishing the last of his ale just as the barmaid returns, two drinks in hand. Service here is quick and efficient, the only aim to get you drunk enough to empty your pockets. "She won't be home for quite a few hours."

The bar is loud, noisy. Most of the clients already in various stages to truly piss drunk. A few of them are even down for the count despite that the night is just beginning. Their faces are plastered to the sticky wooden tables, empty mugs scattered around them.

The singing has started up again, but it's no longer the tuneless singing of a drunk. Now the notes that are sung are pleasing and accompanied by the soft strumming of a lute. Though soon it picks up pace, the beat morphing until the song turns into something that vaguely resembles modern-day bar music.

"While the cat is away?" Mario asks, just as a crash sounds. Its soon followed by shouting and curses but, surprisingly, the music doesn't stop.

It continues, beat picking up even more as the first fist is swung.

"The mice will play."

What follows next is a mess of spilled beer, overturned tables, drunken punches, and crushed _everything._

The brawl goes on for longer than is strictly necessary. The barmaid's halfhearted attempts to stop the fight as ignored as the tables that crack under the weight of bodies crashing against them. The fact she throws a few punches of her own goes as equally ignored.

The few courtesans that have stuck around cheer the brawling drunks on. They sit amongst the mess, perched on tables and stools and uncaring of the chaos around them. They relish it. Pleased giggles leaving their lips even as more than a few of them are splashed by the spilled beer. Though they dodge the tumbling bodies and misdirected swings instantly. Fleeting out of the way of danger with all grace of dancers.

"Wha-what a night," Mario stutters out sometime later, after the fighting has ended and more than a few mugs of beer have passed his lips. They're busted, split open by a lucky swing, but if it hurts, Mario doesn't show it as he raises yet another drink to them. "You, you should come by more often."

There's another girl on his lap. This one has sun-kissed skin, carefully curled raven hair and wide doe eyes. They look innocent, deceptively so, but there's no hiding the scheming gleam in her eyes as she throws her head back and laughs.

Mario appreciates the soft and smooth column of her neck just as she wants him to. Ale glazed eyes follow the exposed skin down, down, down to the swell of her chest and the ruffles that only just cover them from view. Her laugh turns into a pleased giggle, body angling so she can take up all of his view.

"Definitely beats Ma-Masyaf," Alexander slurs into his mug. He's lost count of how many he's had but if the mugs littered around him are any indication it's probably more than he should have. "The bars there are depressing."

There's another courtesan at his side, desperately trying to get his attention as she all but throws herself at him. She's draped across his back, corset bound chest pressed firmly against his back. He shakes her off as he finishes his mug, the annoyance in his movements clear enough that she moves on.

"Poor drunk bastards," Mario says, pity in his voice.

"Yes, though I guess it makes sense considering that most of the drunks there are assassins who have been retired due to horrible injuries," he says, wiping the lingering ale on his lips with the back of his hand. It stings the open scrapes on his bruised knuckles. While he managed to avoid the majority of the fight, he'd thrown more than his fair share of punches. "But, trust me, the bars back home are better than even these."

"How so?" Mario asks, interest in the courtesan lost in the face of an almost challenge. After all, what could be better than _Monteriggioni_ , his beautiful and grand city?

 _The home of the Assassins._

"The beer for one," Alexander says, making a face at the new mug of ale that's placed in front of him. "We have a variety of flavors and consistency, like apples and oranges, not just…fermented bread? The second one would be the gambling, it's much more fun. There's flashing lights and spinning signs and no chance of getting your face beat in if you win."

There's a table for gambling set up in the corner of the tavern, a set of weathered cards with it. The gambling is open to everyone, though the only ones currently playing are big and thuggish and probably better not to approach.

"Then there's the music," he continues, only just realizing that it has stopped long ago. Probably around the time the singer hand been accidentally caught in a punch meant for someone else. "Just better quality overall."

"Now this I have to see!" Mario cries, throwing back the last of his ale as he stands. The courtesans on his lap cries out as she is dislodged. Colorful curses leave her lips as Mario dumps a pile of coins onto the table, more than enough to pay for their drinks.

 _'Dave and Busters here we come.'_

~oOo~

 _Jennifer Hernandez:_

"When do we do we leave?" Leonardo asks some time later. After the food is gone and the plates are clean and all there's left to do is finalize the plans of yet another possibly crazy adventure.

"At dawn," Ezio decides quickly. Almost instantly before he remembers that Ken and I would probably like a choice in the matter too. "Unless you two wish to say longer?"

"No, we're good," Ken answers and I nod in agreement. As beautiful as Venice is, getting answers is the priority. Besides, as much fun as playing tourists sounds, I'm more than a little eager to get home for one reason alone.

 _What if I miss him before he has to leave again?_

"What about contacting Minerva?" Ezio asks then. For all that he was the one who said we should leave at first light, he seems almost reluctant now. "She has not contacted you, yet."

"She can do it on the way home," I reply, shrugging because it's more than true. "And even if she doesn't, all I really need to do is take a couple of naps around Uncle Mario's Villa."

"She's not wrong," Kenny agrees, though he has a thoughtful look in his eyes. He doesn't share whatever ideas he's turning over in his head as he says, "so we really don't need longer than tonight."

"That is settled then. I just have to send out a few letters," Leonardo says, excitement in his voice as well as his face. He's got those big, shiny blue eyes on Ezio again. His smile is just as big when he shoots off his stool and scrambles to look for paper and a quill. "A notice of absence, just in case people fear the worst has befallen."

"Of course," Ezio agrees, fond eyes trailing after the smaller man as he watches him fumble about the workshop.

If there had been any order to the room before, there isn't any by the time Leonardo unearths a quill, ink, and paper from under the mountains of work littered around his workshop.

"Do you think this will ever end," Kenny asks later that night when we're both settling into bed in one of Leonardo's spare rooms.

Its quiet, dark. The candles have long been extinguished. So that the only light that filters into the room is that of the torches out on the street. Even with the light, the street Leonardo lives on stays mostly empty. Only the occasional sound of footsteps echoes, another citizen on their way home.

"Mmmm?" I mumble, pulled from the edge of sleep by his whisper. "What are you talking about?"

The night is fresh, cool in a way only a city on the beach can be in late spring. With a slight humidity that turns the air moist, cold, and biting if exposed to it for too long. Cuddling deeper into the blankets to fight off the chill of the room, I open my eyes to find him at the window.

"All of _this_ ," he says, arm going out to sweep the world outside the window. "The traveling, the confusion, the entities from another universe wanting your help but refusing to tell you why. Do you think it will ever end?"

The curtains are pulled wide, drifting on the wind as it sweeps in. The glass is thrown open so that the light of a nearby torch shines on him, bathing him in a soft yellow glow. A gentle breeze rustles his long, golden hair, playing with the strands.

He turns to look at me then. But, despite the light shining on him, his face is cast in shadows. Cover in the same darkness that slowly swallows the room.

It starts at the edges, crawling forward inch by inch until the room fades away and it's only us.

Then it swallows him too. It wraps around him, dimming the soft glow on him but never actually stamping it out. The light continues to shine through the darkness even as the darkness starts to shift.

Warping until it's no longer Kenny.

It can't be.

The figure that steps out of the darkness is too small, too curvy, and dressed in long, silk robes that wrap elegantly around her.

"The pain, the suffering, the endless death of the innocent, do you think it will ever end?" she asks, voice soft and curious as the darkness parts around her. It slips away like water. Clinging only to the edges of her skirts for a few seconds as if to draw her back into its depths, before sliding away completely.

She moves closer as she speaks, gliding across the hardwood floor almost as if she's floating. No steps sound in her approach, not even the rustle of her skirts reaches me. Everything is quiet, eerie. The only sound in the room is that of my breathing.

Once she's at my side, she perches on the edge of the bed. Folds down gracefully and lifts on long, elegant pale hand to brush the hair away from my face. Soothing it back, so nothing blocks her view. So, she can see all of me.

"I'll give you hint," she teases, leaning down to whisper the words into my ear. Her voice is smooth, like bells on the wind even as it turns harsh and bitter with every word. "Humans are cruel, vindictive little things."

There's a sneer on her face and disgust in her eyes when she pulls back.

"But of course, they learned it from the best," she says, the sneer turning into something prideful as she rakes her fingers through my hair. Yanking harshly when the long, unruly strands knot on them. "Why Minerva chose to save your kind is something I will never understand."

Despite the sneer on her face and the hate in words, she's beautiful. Graceful. Gorgeous and perfect in every way. Her nose narrow and her lips plump. The features of her face are all sharp angles and straight lines.

The helmet on her head only adds to her beauty. While Minerva's helmet had been a big, oval lump atop of her head, hers is small. Fitted to wrap around and hug her face. Adding to the sharpness of her features and ending in a long veil that drapes behind her.

"Juno."

~oOo~

 _Kenny Chase:_

"Or do you think they'll keep us running in circles for the rest of our lives?"

His question hangs in the air. Heavy and brooding but the only answer he gets is soft, even snores. A quick look towards the bed confirms his suspicions.

Jen is fast asleep.

Tuckered out by the days of admittedly light—though no less straining—travel and lulled to sleep by the warmth of the blankets pulled around her and the comfort of a full stomach. It's honestly no surprise she fell asleep almost as soon as she reached the bed.

It's more surprising that he hasn't already joined her. He's just as tired and definitely more than a little saddle sore, but something keeps him from climbing into bed.

A longing.

 _A tug._

One that has him standing in front of the open windows and staring up at the moon.

It sits big and heavy, nestled amongst more stars than he has ever seen before and the dark gray clouds that threaten to block them from view. And, if he concentrates hard enough, he can almost make himself believe he can hear the distant sound of crashing waves.

It's a peaceful night.

Seamlessly calm and gentle as the wind blows softly, rustling tree leaves, and chilling the already fresh sea air. Off in the distance, he can hear the soft giggles of a few girls, pleased and enticing. Courtesans most likely, but even that doesn't dispel the feeling of a quiet night.

It adds to it.

Giving the night a pleasantly eerie feeling that makes the night come alive. Like fireflies in summer and quiet cricket calls. It makes it the night feel real, authentic, and not like the kind of dream it should be.

 _Starlit skies in Venice, Italy 1448?_

With the little light pollution that comes from simple torches, the stars shine brighter and stronger than he's used to.

They light up the sky. Bathing the world in their soft blue hues and making the world seem like something out of a painting. Unreal and unattainable.

"Would you care to join me for a walk?"

Ezio's whispered words probably would have startled him if he wasn't feeling so at peace. As it is, he simply pulls away from the window with a nod and follows the other man out the house and into the cobblestone streets.

The air is colder out in the open.

The breeze stronger.

But he doesn't shy away from it. He basks in it. Loves how it seeps under his loose tunic, doublet left behind, and into his skin. He's never been much of a fan of cold weather, but now, when everything feels so surreal, dreamlike, he relishes it.

He takes in deep breathes of cold air and lets it remind him that this is very much real.

"This feels like a dream," he says when they pass under an archway and into a moonlit plaza. One that gleams under the moon's silver glow and sits right before the wide, open sea.

"Is it a good one?"

"I never want to wake up," he admits, throwing a glance Ezio's way.

Though his eyes end up lingering. Stuck on the image he makes, under the moon's glow. White cloak glowing the same silver as the plaza's white stones. It stands in stark contrast to the shadows of his hood. The one that makes all but his lips and chin invisible.

It makes him seem as ethereal as the world around him.

Like he's straight out of the dream Ken's trying to convince himself he _isn't_ having.

"You could stay here," Ezio says, the words like a promise on his lips as he watches Ken. Even though Ken can't see Ezio's eyes under the hood, Ken knows they're trained on him. Watching Ken just as much as Ken is watching him. "With me, in this world, always. You do not have to go back."

"Are you asking me to step into your fairy ring?" Ken teases, finally turning away from Ezio to step into the plaza and towards the sea. The waves lap softly under the platform, washing under the floating city and through the canals.

"Fairy ring?" Ezio calls, confused before trailing after him. Only stopping when Ken does too. Together they stand on the edge, watching as the moon sits above the water, it's reflection rippling against the gentle waves under it.

"It's just a fairytale," Ken says, distracted just as much by the moon and stars as the waves that continue to crash softly. "If you step into the fairy ring, under the moon's light, and join the dance you'll be lost to space and time, disappearing forever."

"Will you join me for this dance then?" Ezio asks, teasing lit in his words even as he bows, hand coming out in a request for his. "So, if we are lost, it will be together?"

"But there's no music," Ken points out confused both by the offer and the way Ezio's outstretched hand makes his heart ache.

There shouldn't be pain here.

Not in this moment. In this offer of everything he hasn't let himself want.

"Oh, right," Ezio says, hand lowering, a small frown on his lips as something like disappointment fills his eyes. This close and under the full shine of the moon, there's no hiding behind the hood. So Ken sees the shine of disappointment before Ezio can hide it.

"Wait!"

There's desperation in his voice. He knows there is, but he can't help it as he snatches up Ezio's hand before he can lower it completely.

He can't dance, has never even learned how to, but that doesn't stop him. He rifles through his pockets, searching for the one piece of electronic his generation can't go anywhere without despite its current uselessness. And once he finds it, he hopes it has enough charge left to play at least one song.

It does and not too long later the gentle melody of _'River flows in you'_ fills the air. Soft and low so it won't carry any further than the plaza. So that it'll stay in their own little world as Ezio pulls him close.

The difference in their height is minimal. Only about an inch, two at the most, so Ken has no trouble meeting Ezio's golden brown eyes. They shine brightly under the hood, more golden than brown when the light manages to hit them in just the right way.

There's hand on his waist, pulling him into a broad, sturdy chest and another holding his own. It guides him, leading him into a gentle sway, one that probably doesn't even follow the beat of the song for all he knows.

But it's perfect.

Gentle.

A dream. As they sway under the moonlight, the ocean crashing around them and the stars high above. It's all a dream. One he lets himself live as Ezio pulls him into slow, swaying circles across the plaza. The rise and fall of the melody almost mimicking the waves until it slows. Drops and tapers off on one last note and all that's left is them.

Him and Ezio, one arm around his waist, holding him flush against a chest that feels sturdier than anything he's ever felt. A weight that won't give way, while the other hand anchors him, keeps him from floating away with the last note of a dream he's not sure he can let himself live.

"Stay with me," Ezio whisper against his forehead, lips brushing his skin like an almost kiss. "Here, in this fairy ring, until the end of time."

There's no other answer. None he can give without betraying everything he is. As he looks up, eyes catching Ezio's under his hood again, he knows there's only one answer in his heart. The only one that matters anymore.

"Okay."


	8. Part Two: Chapter 7

**Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

"Juno."

She smiles at the call of her name. It twists the smirk on her face into something beautifully cruel. Her hand turns soft then, fingers slipping easily from the knots in my hair.

"To think," she begins, fingers stilling on one lock. She holds it softly, lifting slowly until it finally slips from her hand. "That Minerva would choose you. Someone so worthless. So _useless._ But, then, only a creature so lonely, _so miserable_ , would blindly follow her lead.

"Do you know?" she continues, not giving me a chance to speak. "That, when she chose you to save the world, she condemned you to death over and over again? She saw every way death would come for you. She saw your throat split, your blood spill, your world _burn,_ until there was nothing left but smothering ash. And did she care?"

Her smile is both cruel and sympathetic as she asks. Shinny, pointed teeth peek out from behind her lips, warping her visage into something feral, _evil_ as she crackles. Her laugh comes out both bitter and smug and just all around crazed.

 _"No. She didn't,"_ she whispers, deranged laughter dying on her lips. Her words are just as smug as the look on her face, like this all just proves her right. "She saw your world burn and did it _anyway._

"Do you want to know why?" she asks. By the taunting look on her face, I can tell she knows I want to. She knows I don't know anything Minerva doesn't _want_ me too and I won't until Minerva thinks I should. "Because Minerva cares for nothing, not you or your people or even your world, more than she cares about herself and the great stain failing to save the world left on her record.

"When the war between the humans and the Isu started, do you think she chose a side?" she asks, even though she never stops long enough to let me answer. "She didn't. She just stood and watched as we slaughtered each other. Indifferent to the massacre of your race. So why would she care now? After all the Isu have fallen and have long been forgotten, why would she suddenly want to help the humans now?"

I _can't_ speak. There's an invisible hand on my throat, squeezing. It cuts off the words that I want to let out, choking them and leaving them to die there as she speaks. As she says all she's come here to say. She's not here to listen to me, after all.

She's here to talk until she has nothing left to say.

"Minerva, the great of Calculator. _The Goddess of Wisdom_ ," she sneers again, smile still twisted and feral, but a new look comes into her eyes. Something that shines a little like respect for the woman who carved her name in history. "Has only ever failed once and the price of that failure was the world."

Her only redemption should be to save it. And she is trying. Even thousands of years after her death, she hasn't stopped. Everything she's done since before the world turned to ash has been to save it.

"There is a reason she has not told you all everything you wish to know," Juno mutters, gaze going to drift out past the window. "It's an admittedly good one. You see, Time is a fickle thing. It's ever-changing, influenced by what has happened, what will happen, and what is happening. It's neither set in stone nor completely predictable, because time is not linear.

"It never has been," she continues. "It's a convoluted mess that twists and spirals. Flows forward and backward. Everything that has ever been and ever will be is happening _now_. There is no past nor present nor future. Time is nothing more than a human construct to help differentiate between now and perceptions of the past.

"In our universe, of course," she admits, one thin, pale hand coming up to brush her hair over her shoulder. "Though, yours runs similarly enough for Minerva to link them. They share enough common ground that they can coexist. Only just parallel enough that tearing open the fabric between them and bridging the gap will not cause them to collapse or, at worst, one will not swallow the other in an effort to correct the abnormalities.

"Universes, my dear, are almost like living entities of their own," she explains, no doubt catching the increasingly confused look on my face. "They grow and expand. Shifting and changing at will. They're vast and complex and hold their own shape by sheer force of will. Mess with one too much and they collapse, unable to accept the sudden anomalies. Learn the complexity of one though—learn how it grows, how it flows, _how it lives_ —and you can do almost _anything._

"It's how Minerva can do all this," she says, hand going out to encompass the whole room. "How she can use machines to _calculate_ when you will stumble upon her messages. How she can shuffle through _'time'_ and reveal them to you. All while keeping some semblance of order about it.

"She knows this universe," Juno says, the begrudging respect back in her eyes. "She destroyed the preconceived laws of it, tore them to shreds, and built them again. She studied and watch and learned. Unrestricted by all the studies done before her and all the _'laws'_ set in place, she set out to learn this Universe from scratch. And, with the help of her machines, she _did._

"She found the beat of our Universe and _learned_ it," Juno mutters, there is no sarcasm in her words. There is only something that can vaguely be considered awe, giving respect where it is due. "You'll be surprised with all that you can accomplish when you do not allow your human _'laws'_ of physics to restrain you.

"It's how we created you," she says, gaze coming back to me as she does. "Without your laws of nature to restrict us, we forced your primate ancestors to evolve. What would take millions of years, we did in _days._ We _made_ you and when you turned out to be too difficult to control, we _changed_ you.

"We molded you to fit what we needed," she sneers, the disgusted look back on her face as she sweeps her gaze over me. "Enslaved you to the whims of those who held a Piece of Eden. Without your human laws, we created, we destroyed. We became _gods_. The very gods you worshiped even after the Solar Flare doomed us to extinction. And, until you learn you shake off your human shackles, you will _always_ be destined to be under our control. In this universe, in yours, or in the next, you will always be ours.

"And, for all of her benevolence, Minerva acts on this," Juno says, sneer melting away. "Too used to having humans under her thumb, controlling them and enslaving them, she forgets that we did not create _you_. That, in your universe, we did not exist as we did here, as the creators of your species. That you're not used to being controlled and manipulated as we see fit. It flounders her whenever you rebel, confuses her so much she has no idea how to proceed.

"There is no engraved _need_ for you to please us, after all. You weren't wired for it, so you can easily brush our demands aside and, without the apple to try and force you, Minerva has no idea how to get you to do what she needs," Juno explains and it makes sense. Minerva's lack of direction must be for a reason after all. "So, she chose the next best thing. She ensnared your heart with something she knew you could not resist."

 _Altaïr._

It was always Altaïr.

"Minerva is nothing if not manipulative," Juno says, tone calm, matter of fact. There is no sneer or mocking in her tone as she says it. "The Great Athena, the _Goddess of Strategy,_ she planned this from the beginning. When she heard your heart's call, she sent him to you with every intention of ripping him away. She has to break you in somehow, after all."

"What good is a servant who won't do as she's told, after all?" she coos, words deceptively sweet. "And now she has you in her trap. Ready and willing to bend to her will. You poor thing," she whispers, gaze turning to stare out the window. "You don't even know how doomed you are. So, I'll do you one kindness and tell you this:

 _"Eden and all its pieces are your only salvation. Do not let them slip from your grasp."_

She goes silent then. Her smile falls along with all its cruelty and hate as she looks up, up towards the moon and the stars. With the cruel smile gone, she looks younger, lost, and achingly beautiful.

 _Like the goddess she was named after._

"Let me tell you a story," she says after a long pause, voice still just a whisper as the bedroom melts away. As the dream shifts and we're no longer on the bed. "About a girl who lost it all to the vermin she helped create."

Instead, we're on the sand, the moon still high above, and the waves lapping gently against our feet. The water is warm against my skin. It's nowhere near as icy as it should be, even as the cold sea-winds whip around us, playing with the long strands of her hair.

She tells me her story then. As the waves lap at our feet and the moon shine down on us she tells me about her father.

 _Saturn._

The god of Agriculture, Liberation, and Wealth.

"He was the first one I lost. Killed in his own home, with his own weapon. _The Scythe of Eden_ ," she whispers, gaze still on the moon as she does. "They caught us off guard. Defenseless. There was nothing we could do, no way we could save him. The killer hit his mark, right through his head, before we even knew what was happening. Do you know what it does to you? To see your father killed before your very eyes and knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it?"

I don't. Of course, I don't. My world isn't filled with violence and war and death and destruction like theirs is. Whatever violence finds me it's minuscule. Unimportant and nearly nonexistent when compares to theirs. My pain is _nothing_ compared to theirs.

"That's a silly question, isn't it?" she asks painfully amused smile coming onto her lips as she chuckles. It's a broken thing, filled with more pain and grief than amusement but it still sounds like bells on the wind. soft and sweet. "Your father is still alive. All while mine is gone and forgotten. Assassinated by the very creatures he thought might one day be his equal.

"That was the day," she continues, smile melting away and leaving only pain and grief behind. Though that shifts not too long after to reveal only burning rage. "That was the day I knew you would destroy everything. The Isu, the world, _yourselves_. So, on the day my father was stolen for me, I swore to would save every single one of you _from yourselves."_

The snarl on her face promise that her methods won't be gentle. That her saving humanity has nothing to do with kindness or compassion and everything to do with stopping an invasive species from spreading. Because that's what we are to her, to them, to the Isu. We're nothing but genetically engineered mice that got away and are now slowly destroying the world.

"I lost my husband next," she says, rage melting back to grief and pain as she turns to look over the sea. "My sweet Aita, who gave his life to save us—humans and Isu alike. He—"

She cuts off suddenly, stopping midsentence and head whipping around to look over her shoulder. I follow her gaze and find nothing but the Venice Shoreline. All dark buildings, glowing torches, and empty streets. But she sees something else, I know she does when she curses.

"We will have to finish this story another time," she says suddenly, staring off towards something only she can see as the water turning icy cold. It bites at my toes, stinging, but I can't move. I can only stand where she wants me, ankle-deep in freezing water even as the world shifts again. "Seems I've kept you for too long. Minerva's calling."

She fades, her light dimming until there's nothing left, but the biting cold never leaves. The beach shifts away, taking the moon and the stars with it. In its place familiar buildings rise, the city is rebuilt. The very one that will burn and crumble under the onslaught of flames.

Except, this time I'm among them. The buildings tower high, long and lean. I'm not alone either, the ghost of people bustle about, shadowy and translucent as they go. High above, the sun shines brightly, bathing the city in its rays that only grow brighter.

Hotter.

 _No!_

My yell never comes out. It gets stuck in my throat, choking and suffocating as the flames reach us.

They swallow the city instantly, cracking the concrete streets and melting glass windows. Still, the ghostly remains of screams reach me before the heat does. They echo, coming from everywhere and surrounding me before even the fire does.

I don't know when my own scream joins them. Probably before my knees buckle, sending me crashing onto the ground, and well before my skin sizzles and bubbles. Hot and searing, it melts away too quickly, peeling off almost as soon as the fire licks at it. It stands no chance, offers no protection, as the world cracks and burns.

 _"Jen!"_

With great, trembling groans, the towering buildings fall. They shake the earth, further cracking the streets as they crash down. Dust and debris join the ash and smoke in the air, suffocating and burning with each inhale. Its scorches my throat on the way down, damaging everything in its wake with its heat. It's like trying to breathe in fire.

 _"Jen, it's okay."_

But nothing is worse than the screams. Loud and piercing, they come from everywhere. From under rubble and flames and from the dying corpses that fall in defeat. From mothers carrying babies and lovers holding on to each other as the flames consume them. They all fall with piercing dying screams and become nothing more than ash.

 _"Jennifer! Wake up, damnit."_

The ringing in my ears registers before the stinging pain in my cheek. The burning world falls away as I open my eyes, the screams fading away with one last echoing cry. Arms envelop me before I even fully register that I'm back in Leonardo's guest room.

 _"Ken."_

His name comes out as a weak and hoarse cry, my throat throbbing fiercely as it does. Ken's arms tighten around me, drawing me into his chest until I'm held firmly in his lap. I cling back to him, burying my hands into the loose fabric of his shirt and gasping deep inhales of the blissfully cool air.

 _"Jesus, Jen,"_ he whispers, the relief in his words turning his voice thick. The last of the panic leaves him after a few deep inhales. With one last shuttering breath he whispers, " _You wouldn't stop screaming. Why wouldn't you stop?"_

We're on the bed, the sheets a crumpled mess on the floor where they've been thrown. Ezio stands beside us, a worried look in his eyes and concern pulling his lips into a deep frown. Leonardo stays by the door, unsure but no less concerned.

"Sorry, sorry," I croak out, clearing my throat painfully. A cup of water is pressed against my lips from somewhere and I drink it greedily. It's refreshing, cool, soothing, and the best tasting water I've ever had. Especially after so much _fire._ "Nightmare."

"That was some nightmare," Ezio muses as he takes the empty cup away. He passes it to Leonardo, who scurries away as soon as he does. "What happened, little one?"

"The Isu," I cough out, the soothing relief of the water gone almost as soon as I stop drinking. My throat feels as cracked as my voice sounds. The words come out hoarse and almost too low to make out. "Fire, there was fire _everywhere._ "

"They showed you more burning worlds?" Ken asks as he finally pulls back. He loosens his arms enough to lean back and look me over. Just his words are enough to bring back the fire and the smoke and the screams.

 _"No,"_ I tell him, trying my hardest to forget the smell of burning flesh as I bury myself back in his arms. I take deep mouthfuls of crisp, smoke-free air as I do. "They burnt _me."_

"Who did," Ezio growls, snarl tearing from his lips as he does. The quiet _snick-snick_ of both his blades releasing eases something deep inside me. As if by instinct, it relaxes me, lulls me into feelings of security more than Ken's arms ever could.

That's the sound of protection.

 _Altaïr._

My heart both clenches and races, each beat painful as the yearning hits me full force. Because that sound usually comes from him. Always quick to draw, and even quicker to strike, I've heard that sound thousands of times while traveling with him.

It's almost a reflex for him, honestly. A reassurance that his blade is functioning properly, he'd drawn it even when we were alone. Fidgeting almost or as a way to past the time. And to hear it now, when I'm shaken beyond belief, both eases my nerves and makes my heart yearn.

 _Where are you?_

"Jen?" Ken calls, cautious even as he wraps his arms back around me. He holds me against his chest, grip both firm and tight as I begin to shake. Surprisingly, no tears come, though. "Who burnt you?"

"Juno," I rasp just as Leonardo appears again. He moves towards the bed, cup in hand. He's also carrying a jug. One filled with water that he pours into the cup before holding it out for me. I take it with shaky hands, only just making myself release Ken's shirt to do it.

"Juno? But Juno's one of the three so she's a good guy, right?"

I gulp down the water, letting it soothe my still aching throat. It's gone too soon. Leonardo refills it with a small, worried smile. Though this time I make sure to take small sips as I can feel my stomach begin to get uncomfortably full.

"She is, at least I thought she was. I'm honestly not too sure anymore."

My words come out in starts and stops. More than once I have to clear my throat and each time is as painful as the last. By the time I finish my short sentence, my throat is as dry as when I first woke up and my cup is once again empty.

"Why would she want to harm you?

"Maybe we should save the question for later," Leonardo cuts in, catching my grimace when I have to clear my throat yet again. He places the jug of water down on the bedside table, well within reach, along with my now empty cup. "I may not be a doctor, but all that screaming could not have been good for your throat. I think questions can wait until tomorrow morning, yes?"

With that, he attempts to coax Ezio from the room, but when Ezio shakes his head, he bids us goodnight instead. I stay in Ken's arms even when Ezio sprawls out on the bed next to us. Though, soon, Ken shifts us. He leans back, dragging me with him as he sprawls out beside Ezio.

I end up half on top of him, head pillowed on his chest, but make no effort to move. I'm still shaking, though they're nothing more than small tremors, Ken doesn't let me go. And I'm grateful for it. As we settle into bed and the quiet descends, I savor the warmth of his arms even if they're not the arms I wish for.

Ezio doesn't stay still for long. After Ken and I settle on the bed, he shifts. Slipping an arm under Ken's head he curls around us, offering an extra layer of protection from the demons only I can see. One I desperately need as the tremors don't stop when I close my eyes and see only fire.

 _Fire and ash and red, red, red._

Tossing his other arm over Ken, Ezio grips my hand where it's still clutching tightly onto Ken's shirt. His big hand swallows my smaller one instantly, relaxing me further as his warmth bleeds into me, soothing me enough that the fire doesn't seem that close.

We drift off like that. Ken holding me to his chest, my head pillowed on him and Ezio curled around both of us.


	9. Part Two: Chapter 8

**Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

When my eyes open again, the world has turned dewy and gray. Hours have passed since I closed my eyes and fell asleep, and yet it feels like I haven't slept at all. It's all one long blink. Eyes shutting close one second to open again as Ezio slips out of bed.

"We should get going soon," Leonardo whispers from the door. A small smile of excitement on his face as his gaze drifts over us. "The first ferry leaves an hour after sunrise. If we miss it, we'll have to wait until midday".

"Finish packing, Leonardo. I will wake them," Ezio tells him, gently ushering him from the room. Leonardo all but races away, smile still on his face and eagerness pouring out from every inch. Ezio closes the door softly after him, his own small smile on his lips.

"Ken," I whisper, voice still just the tiniest bit raspy as I gently shake him awake. He grumbles but squints one eye open enough to peer at me as I pull out of his arms to sit up. "It's time to wake up. The boat's going to be leaving soon."

That just causes him to grumble more. Both with reluctance and annoyance as he buries further into the pillows and covers. A quiet chuckle from Ezio pulls my gaze up just as he reaches the bed. Climbing onto it, he waves me away and takes over waking Ken with that small smile still in place.

"How long do we have?" I ask, ignoring the rasp in my voice as I shuffle towards the foot of the bed. Our belongings are still thrown there, resting on the bed trunk. I grab all of ours just as Ken yelps and the bed rocks under me. There's an accompanying _'thud'_ of someone crashing against the floor. "Everything okay over there?"

Looking over my shoulder, I find Ken sitting up and clutching the sheets against his chest, a startled look on his face. Ezio quiet snickers come from the floor on the other side of the bed. Ken glares at him or tries to at least, but the sleepy look on his face just makes him look confused as he peers down at Ezio.

"Ah, um, yeah, something poked me, is all," he mumbles sounding as confused as he looks. I ignore them as I tug our belongings onto the middle of the bed and start rummaging through mine. Reluctant to actually leave the bed, I sit at the foot of the bed, back turned to them and feet resting on trunk. "What are you doing on the floor, Ezio?"

 _He's your 'something', dork._

As I pull my last clean set of clothes from it, I realize that I probably should have done laundry while we were here. Not that I even brought many clothes to begin with. Other than the dress I wore on the way here, this is the only other one I brought with me. So, laundry is definitely on the to-do list. For all of us.

Ken's pack had been as light as mine, if not lighter. So when he eyes the clothes he pulls from his pack warily, I know he's probably out of clean clothes too. Ezio, on the other hand, hadn't even bothered to pack anything now that I think of it.

 _I haven't even seen him change other than to sleep._

And, even then, all he does is peel off everything until he's in just his shirt and breeches. The whole trip here he has worn the same set of clothes and none of them are dirty or smelly. As he begins to pull on his doublet and armor, I realize there's probably a laundry system in the taverns that we haven't been told of.

Bathes, I've also come to realize, are only taken at night. Considering the vast majority of jobs in this era involves some form—if not entirely—hard labor, bathes are taken to wash away the day's grime. Which means, unless you were rolling around in mud, you probably won't bathe until bedtime.

"If we want to wash our clothes where should we do it?" I ask Ezio as I change my socks. They're long, calf-high, and extremely comfy. They go perfectly with my boots, keeping all the sensitive parts cushioned. Seeing as I wasn't sure just how this trip would go, I opted out of wearing anything heeled or flimsy. The last thing I need is to end up with blister if we suddenly need to walk. With that same train of thought, I've decided against anything too heavy.

My dresses are light-weight and simple. Though calling them 'dresses' is a bit of a stretch. They're peasant clothing, really. With only two layers each. One low cut, floor-length, chemise and a bone-less bodice with an attached over-skirt. The only difference between both outfits is in the Bodice, where yesterdays had been pale blue, today's is soft pink. Despite the light coloring, I do look like your average peasant, unassuming and easily forgettable.

"Just ask the Tavern wenches to clean them," Ezio says as he begins to pull on his chest armor. It's all metal, shiny, and inlaid with vines and feathers designs carefully engraved into the metal. The attached cape is rich brown leather with blood-red silk lining on the inside. "If you would like, I can ask them to tend to your clothing at the next Tavern we stop at."

 _Missaglias armor._

The highest-level armor before he gets Altaïr's armor and proof that he's well on his way to the last sequence of the game. Though, I'm not too sure he hasn't already collected all the Assassin's Seals. Considering he isn't wearing the armor, I guess not.

"Yes please."

Before I can think too much on it, I pull off the chemise I fell asleep in and replace it with a clean one. There really isn't any privacy when traveling in this era, or Altaïr's for that matter, so I don't bother to attempt hide as I change. Nor do I even bother to blush as I change out my under-garments.

While our travels so far have been far better than my travels with Altaïr, it's not like we could afford separate rooms. Just like last night, we've been sleeping in the same room the whole way here, so I've already lost all sense of embarrassment when it comes to changing.

 _'Sides, Ken and Ezio only have eyes for each other._

Lacing up my bodice, I make sure to keep my eyes on my own two hands. As much as I love these two and can appreciate their good looks, I _really_ don't need to see more skin that is strictly necessary. The same goes for them, of course. We run on locker-room etiquette: everyone keeps their eyes in respectable places.

 _Above the chest or on your own person._

"Hey Ezio," I call as I tie the laces on the bodice. There's a rustle of fabric as Ken finally shuffles off the bed and begins to change so I don't turn around. "Have you collected all the Assassin Seals yet or do those not actually exist in this world."

"The Seals?" He asks, voice slightly muffled as if he's covering his mouth. There's a grunt as the quiet _'click'_ of latches sliding into place before he speaks again. "Yes, actually. I collected them all a few months back."

"Then why aren't you wearing Altaïr's armor," I ask as I begin to run a brush through the tangles in my hair. Though I don't go as far as trying to style it. Instead, I just throw it up into a ponytail, only leaving a few curls loose along with my bangs to frame my face. "Isn't it stronger than the _Missaglias armor_?"

"It is," Ezio agrees, coming around the bed just as I pull a toothbrush and paste from my bag. Used morning routine by now he doesn't question it as I begin to brush my teeth. "And I do have it, but it seemed a little…disrespectful to run around in a supposedly dead Assassin's robes in front of the said, still living, Assassin."

"But you weren't wearing it when you first came to my world, before you knew he was still alive," I remind him after spitting the toothpaste into my empty water cup from last night. I rinse my mouth out with water straight from the jug, all propriety forgotten. "You weren't even wearing armor. You were just wearing your white robes."

"Contrary to the popular belief," he starts, amusement in both his gaze and words as he watches me struggle to drink from the jug without spilling. "I do, in fact, have more than one set of clothing and running around my own home in armor seems a bit silly."

"Then how come you only ever wear the white set?" I ask, setting the jug down and fishing a stick of deodorant out from my pack. Knowing that we have a long, sun-filled day ahead of us, I apply a thick layer. Once done, with that I shove everything back in my pack.

"It is the Assassin's uniform," he says, taking my pack when I finish closing it. He throws it over his right shoulder, slipping his arm through the strap as he does. "So I have more than one set of it. Plus, it is comfortable. While these clothes are bulky by your era's standards, they were designed with comfortability and mobility in mind. I have to able to run, jump, and scale buildings, after all."

"Makes sense."

He offers me his hand then. I take it and let him help me get to my feet simply because I don't know how steady I'll be. Despite the calm of the morning and the routine of getting ready to start the day, images of fire and smoke still linger in the back of my mind.

 _Taunting._

Last night really was something else.

Thankfully, my legs turn out to be stable. My knees don't buckle or shake. Still, I keep my grip on his hand as I test out a few steps. The caution turns out to be unnecessary. My legs are steady as ever under me so, with a soft squeeze, I let go of his hands and move to pull on my boots.

No one asks about my ' _dream'—_ nightmare is a better word for it honestly. Despite the curiosity I can see burning behind their eyes, no asks even as breakfast is served and eaten and our packs are collected, and we start our journey.

They keep their questions to themselves even as we walk down the slightly bustling streets, past the merchants setting up the market for the day, and board the ferry to Forlì. And I'm thankful for it in more ways than they can ever know.

 _It may have been a dream, but it felt so real._

If I try, I can still hear the screams, low and distant, echoes of ghosts that died in the flames I can still see. That I can still feel licking against my skin, searing and melting. And the _smoke_ , it chokes me, robs the air from my lungs and fills them with something burning and rancid, _suffocating._

 _The smell of burning flesh._

"You okay?"

Ken's voice comes from somewhere far away, even as he takes my hand in his and pulls me into his arms. I cling to him, taking in the warmth of his body, savoring it as the cold morning breeze slips through my clothes and chills me.

"I miss him," I tell him because I don't want to talk about it. I'm not okay no matter how much we both wish I was, but I don't want to face it. Not now, when it's still so fresh. When I can still feel my skin burning, can still hear it hiss and crack as it melts down to bone.

 _Not when he's not here to make it better._

It's childish and stupid and embarrassing but I can't help it. I can't face it. Not alone. Or at least not without him. So instead I bury myself into Ken's arms and ignore his words. He holds me against his chest, head resting on mine as he leans against the ship's railing.

Despite the way the ship rocks, I don't fear we'll tip over the side. Since this ship is for ferrying customers, the railing is tall, past waist height to keep everyone as safe as possible. The only problem comes when the ships finally begins to sail away.

Ken turns green almost instantly.

Shoving me into Ezio arms, he leans over the rail just as this morning's breakfast comes rushing up. With a sigh that has more to do with defeat than exasperation, Ezio begins to run his hand through Ken's hair, pulling the long strands away from his face. He wraps his other arm around me as he comforts Ken, holding me steady as the ship begins to rock in earnest.

"Oh, my," Leonardo gasps when he spots Ken leaning over the railing. Rummaging through the pouch on his waist, he pulls a long, blue ribbon from it just as the second wave of nausea rolls through Ken. "You poor thing," he coos as he pulls Ken's hair from his face and ties it back for him. "Why did you not let me know you could not handle boats?"

"Is there another way into Venice?" I ask, confused from the shelter of Ezio's arms. With Leonardo now tending to Ken, Ezio wraps both arms around me, letting me cling to him as the ship lurches away from the dock. The worst part of sailing is always the takeoff and the docking. The closer you get to land, the harder the waves crash.

"Well, no," Leonardo amends, slowly, cheeks flushing slightly as he runs a soothing hand over Ken's back when he gives a particularly wretched groan. "But I would have not fed you guys breakfast. Or maybe something a lot lighter."

I have half a mind to ask him what could be lighter than bread and wine, but it sounds both rude and ungrateful in my mind, so I don't. Leonardo _didn't_ have to feed us. He didn't have to help us, share his food, and let us spend the night.

"It's not your fault," I soothe him, instead. He looks as worried as Ezio had the first time, which would be odd if I didn't already know that's just the kind of person he _is._

Compassionate and caring and more than willing to risk his life for Ezio, who was already a wanted man at only seventeen, even though he'd only met Ezio once before. He didn't have to help Ezio then, but he had, and even took the beating that came with it when the guards came looking for Ezio. All without ever giving him up.

He'd protected him then, when Ezio had nothing to offer. And he will again when Caesar Borgia starts his reign of terror by telling him exactly where all the war machines he'll be forced to make will be.

We don't deserve him.

 _Beautiful cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure._

"He was like this yesterday too," I tell him when he throws a worried look our way. He runs his hands soothingly down Ken's back, patting when Ken chokes and begins to cough. "Ken just doesn't do well with boats."

"I would offer you water," Leonardo says to Ken when Ken clears his throat and leans heavily against the rail. With his stomach now empty, he slumps pitiful, legs struggling to hold him up. "But I fear that would just give your stomach more to vomit rather than settling it."

"If he didn't just throw up this morning's bread, I would have said to try easing his stomach with that."

"How would bread have helped?" Ezio asks, both curious and doubtful. It sounds farfetched, I know but it's the closest thing to saltine crackers that I can think of.

"It would have helped soaked up the acid in his stomach, for the most part," I explain as Leonard continues to run soothing hands up and down Ken's back. "Less acid would mean less reason to be nauseous, though I'm not too sure if that would actually work when it comes to seasickness."

"Evidently not," Leonardo agrees, something like regret in his words as Ken starts up again. This time the only thing that comes out is bile. The sounds of retching would have been more disgusting if they weren't coming from him, my best friend. Instead, I wince sympathetically with every cough and gag. "Might it be best to lie him down somewhere out from under the sun?"

"Yes," Ezio agrees, arms slipping from around me as Ken heaves one last time. This time when he slumps, Ezio pulls him back, sweeping his legs out from under him as he does, and cradles him against his chest. Ken doesn't even fight him, just lets Ezio carry him away as Leonardo leads the way below deck.

I watch them, shivering as the sea breeze wraps around me, chilling me in seconds. There's no fighting the shiver that crawls up my spine, then. I let it shake me, raising goosebumps as it goes. It stings, bites at the tips of my fingers and nips at my cheeks, but I savor it.

I relish it as it cools the searing heat of the flames. Like jumping into an ice-cold pool in the middle of summer's heat. When the next shiver hits, I stretch with it, letting it relax stiff, burning muscles even as my teeth start to chatter.

I don't know how long I stay there, standing under the rising sun and enjoying the breeze, but when the cold slowly starts to disappear, I quickly search out a shady spot to sit. This ferry will take a few more hours yet, and I have no desire to bake under the sun when I'm finally cold.

When I find a bench set perfectly in the shade of the walls of what I assume to be the Captain's quarters, I lounge there. Uncaring of the rocking ship and it's other passengers, I lean back against the wall, eyes closed and oddly enjoying the gentle rocking.

At some point, I doze off. Lost to everything but the cold winds, gentle rocking, and quite crashing of the waves against the ship, I don't open my eyes again until the shade shifts enough that the sun finds me again. I can almost feel my skin sizzles as soon as it does.

A few hours have passed, the sun sits heavy and hot in the sky and the breeze has warmed enough to match it. The rocking has increased again, lurching the boat around as the dock grows bigger in the distance. Already the deck has begun to fill with travelers eager to be the first off.

Despite the heat, I linger on the bench, both unwilling to move and in no mood to join the slowly growing crowd. Instead, I just watch them, waiting for the others to come above deck. I'm sure they'll stay below deck until we've docked so I don't get up even when, with one final lurch, the boat stops.

Everyone dashes off the ship then, almost squabbling over one another. It's not like anyone was going to keep them from getting off, yet they shove and push. I have half a second to wonder if something is wrong before Ezio appears in front of me, Ken leaning heavily against him.

"Did you kill anyone?" I ask, slipping my pack from his shoulders and taking Ken's as well. Despite having already docked, Ken won't feel better until he feels solid, unmoving ground under his feet. Leonardo hesitates when he sees me with both packs, one on each shoulder, but he has his own gear to carry as well.

Where Ken and I have packed light and Ezio not at all, Leonardo has both a pack and a box of supplies he totes around. It doesn't look heavy, but it keeps both of his hands occupied. When I see the worried look on his face, I offer him a small smile and lead the way off the boat.

"What? No, why?" Ezio asks, confused as he helps Ken off. Once back on solid ground, Ken takes a deep, relieved breath. If it wasn't because Ezio's still holding, I'm sure he would have slumped on the ground and kissed it.

"No reason," I tell him, giving him a smile too. We stop then, but only long enough for Ken to get his bearings back. He grabs both our packs once he does, a grateful look on his face for both the help and putting up with his sensitive stomach. "Lead the way to the horses then."

With no possible way of bringing them with us, we've boarded them at the stables before our ferry ride to Venice. The stable manager greets us with a smile and quick orders to the stable boy to have the horses saddled and brought forward quickly.

Though it's only when my horse—a soft golden one with a shiny blonde mane, a white stripe running down from her forehead to her nose, and white stockings on all four feet—is brought out that we realize we have a bit of a problem. As I tie my pack to my saddle, I count again, but the numbers don't change even as the last horse is led out of the stalls.

We have three horses.

And four riders.

"I knew we were forgetting something," I tell Ezio, but he's already noticed it as well. He eyes the horses, weighing something in his mind before shaking his head. "We could ride doubles."

"No, we need another horse," Ezio disagrees, soft _'clicks'_ leaving his lips as he begins to lead his horse—an all-white one that reminds me so much of Hamza (Altaïr's horse) that it hurts—away from the stables. "These are Jennets, they would not withstand it for long. Had we brought a Destrier, maybe."

"Jennets?" Ken asks as his own horse—a chestnut one with white socks on his feet—starts after Ezio, following the clicks he continues to let out. Ken follows his horse, hands tight on the reins even as it pulls him forward.

"Riding horses," Ezio explains, stopping his clicking. He smiles as Ken's horse continues to drag him forward, eager to reach Ezio even as the clicking has stopped. It's ingrained in them after all, to follow their Assassin's every command. " _Woah,_ easy there, Baldo, _easy_."

He stops Baldo effortlessly, hand coming out to grip his muzzle before Baldo can think run past him. My own horse perks up at the clicking, ears and eyes swiveling expectantly towards Ezio. If I didn't have a stronghold on her reins, I'm sure she would have started forward too. As it is she hangs back, more than willing to follow my commands even though she watches Ezio, waiting.

The horses know him better than they do us. Born and raised in Monteriggioni, he's worked with all of them in some form or another. Just like the horses in Masyaf, these are fiercely loyal to their Assassins. So much so that Baldo doesn't resist the grip, he just stops, ears swiveled towards Ezio, waiting.

They all are.

"Jennets are lean and fast on their feet, but they lack the stamina and endurance of a Destrier, warhorses," Explains, taking the Baldo's reins so that Ken can tie his own pack to the horse. Once he does, he hands both reins to Ken. "Wait here, I shall see if the Stablemaster might have some horses for sale."

He does have a horse for sale. Just one, flea-bitten, scraggly looking thing with a dull brown coat and a white muzzle. Its mane and tail are a knotted mess of hair with no hopes of being saved. I don't have to look towards the others to know this is a no go. With the amount of traveling we'll be doing; this poor thing will probably drop dead halfway.

"I'm sorry, Sir Ezio," the stable master says as he commands the stable boy to take the horse away with a wave of his hand. "I wish I had a better horse to show you."

"It is alright, my friend," Ezio tells him good-naturedly, going as far as to clap the man's back. "Though if you do know where we might be able to find one, it would be much appreciated."

"Well, you might want to try—"

"Ezio!"


	10. Part Two: Chapter 9

**Part Two**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

 _Alexander Hernandez:_

The first thing he registers when he opens his eyes is the throbbing pain in his head. The next is the pungent odor of stale beer and what is probably vomit. And the very last thing he notices is that he is still in Monteriggioni.

In the same Tavern from last night.

And he is not alone.

"My friend, you are awake," a loud booming voice calls him, and he groans at the way the voice bounces around in his skull. It's way too early and way too loud for him not to groan. He flinches away from the voice even though he knows there's no actual threat, but it feels like his heads about to be split in two.

 _What happened last night?_

He can't find the answer even as he rummages his brain for it. The last he remembers is drinking one too many cups of ale, the promise of more fun, and then it all goes blank. It takes him a quick, terrifying second to figure out if his clothes are still on. Once he realizes he's still fully clothed, he sags back in relief.

 _Anna would kill him if he even dared._

"What in the world?" he asks, eyes opening against the soft, yet still too bright, candlelight to look up at Mario. While Alexander feels like he got run over by a very big, very angry horse, Mario looks better than ever. "What happened last night?"

"Ah," Mario says, offering his hand to help Alexander to his feet. He takes it slowly, steeling himself for the harsh pull he knows is coming. Mario doesn't disappoint. With a harsh yank, he had Alexander on his feet almost too quickly for him to catch himself. "On our way to the swirl, we were waylaid by a few of my men who figured us climbing up a ladder as drunk as we were was probably not the best idea to begin with."

He can see that happening.

Considering they had less walked out of the tavern and more stumbled out, he can see why they had been stopped by concerned individuals. But that doesn't explain why he'd woken up on the ground, surrounded by other equally drunk people. Or once equally drunk, at least.

"And then?" he asks because there is more. He just knows there is. Someone doesn't wake up on the ground with a wicked hangover from just that. Luckily his feet are sturdier under him than he would have thought. So much so that the world doesn't spin or blur as stands up.

"Well, we kept drinking, of course!"

"Of course," Alexander mutters, stretching to shake out some of the soreness in his muscles. They're all cramping horribly from a night spent on a hard floor and the fall that probably dumped him on it. Nothing short of falling, piss drunk would get him to willing sleep on the floor, after all. "What time is it?"

"It is just past mid-day," Mario says happily, almost bouncing in his steps as he begins to move towards the exit. "You sure can hold your ale, Alexander," Mario praises him, voice still loud as he either ignores Alexander's headache or is completely oblivious to it. "Though I do not think your wife felt much the same."

"My wife?"

Then it hits him like a truck.

 _The world is spinning, drastically and too fast for him to stop it as his legs suddenly tangle under him. Somewhere he hears muffled laughs and words too slurred and jumbled to make out. Just as suddenly as it started, the world stops with a horrible thud. One that shakes him to the core as his body collides onto something hard and unforgiving._

 _His cup goes flying from his hands, scattering away from him and spilling all its contents onto the body in front of him. One that doesn't even register it's been drenched because the man is just as lost as he is._

 _Drunk._

 _He's drunk, he registered belatedly, hands reaching for the cup even though it's useless now. He's spilled his ale but, hey, refill. He only just manages to grip his cup before he's hauled to his feet. Shaking the hands off him, he doesn't even turn to look at who it is, just mumbles something that sounds close enough to a curse to satisfy him as he ambles to where the barmaid is._

 _Or where he thinks she is._

 _"Alexander Hernandez," someone calls and he turns enough to catch sight of wavy blonde hair and a glimpse of crystal, albeit angry, blue eyes. "If you do not stop trying to drink, right this instant, I will leave you here."_

 _Confused, he stares back into his cup, weighing his options. It's empty, so very upsettingly empty. What was he doing again? Oh, yeah, refill. He turns to search out the barmaid again. Not seeing the anger that blazes in those crystal blue eyes._

 _"Fine," someone huffs, he tries to ignore them, he really does, but suddenly there are fingers on his ear that twists and pulls. He yelps, pulling back too quickly and too harshly to hold himself when his ear slips free. "Stay here then, you drunk bastard."_

 _He's on the ground again before he even knows what's happened, cup well and truly lost even as he searches for it. More laughter erupts around him, but he doesn't know who they're laughing at. Not that he really cares, either way. Not when his eyelids feel pleasantly heavy and the soft cushion under him even more pleasantly soft. That it's not really a cushion but another drunk bastard is none of his concern._

Well, damn.

"Oh shit, my wife," he mutters, recognizing those blue eyes now that the ale isn't clouding his thoughts. She's going to kill him. Then she's going to bring him back from the dead just to kill him again, he just knows it. Groaning he stumbles towards the door and out into the fresh breeze. "How did she even?"

"I sent one of my men to call her when you first fell," Mario tells him cheerfully, there's a proud tone to his voice that says he should be praised for thinking of that. Alexander isn't sure what look he has on his face, but whatever Mario sees has him backtracking, "Don't worry, my men will not tell a soul what they saw beyond the swirl. They can be trusted."

Not exactly what he was worried about, honestly.

"Anna's going to kill me," Alexander mutters instead of attempting to clear up Mario's misunderstanding. Not only did Mario reveal to Anna about Alexander's secret escapades to the other worlds, he probably scared her to death by sending Assassins into her home. Where she was _alone._

If he thought he had any chance of his darling wife forgiving him, it's gone now. Especially with how long it has taken him to get home. Not waiting for Mario's reply, Alexander races away. Hangover and headache be damned, if he's been gone this long already there'll be no making it up to her now. Not without a lot of groveling and, the longer he takes, there more groveling there will be.

The climb up the ladder to the swirls is more of a workout then he thought it would be. Given his current state, he figures he should have been expecting it. As it is, he doesn't even take a second to catch his breath. He just jumps through the swirl almost without ever really touching the roof.

The pillow pit catches him and molds to his frame like clouds. Soft and inviting and he almost doesn't want to move. He lounges there for longer than he probably should, all things considered, and doesn't move until a very irritated voice fills the air.

"So how long have you been sneaking into the other worlds?"

When he peeks out of the nest of pillows, there's no ignoring the dread that pulls in his stomach. Especially since his darling sweet wife stands before him, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. But there is nothing sweet in that smile. All there is is the promise of cold nights spent on the couch if he so much as _thinks_ of trying to lie his way out of this one.

 _Uh-oh._

~oOo~

 _Jennifer Hernandez:_

 _"Ezio!"_

The call is excited and yet smug, dangerous, and definitely all female. If I hadn't been watching Ezio, I would have missed the way he tenses for a second, body locking up as the voice reaches his ears. Next to him, Leonardo turns slowly towards him, a tight smile on his lips.

"Please tell me you did not," he starts but stops as the owner of the voice draws closer. Ezio un-tenses just as quickly, muscles loosening as he turns towards the voice, lopsided smile on his lips. Rather than continue what he was saying, Leonardo simply whispers, "You idiot."

"Caterina, my dear," Ezio greets the woman as she draws near, a seductive swing to her hips that is less intentional and instead all-natural as she saunters up to us. He bows at the sight of her, a hand fisted over his heart as he does. "What brings you so far out this way?"

"I heard you were in town, Ezio," she says as she holds her hand out for him to take. He does, placing a kiss to the knuckles as he stands. Ever the perfect gentlemen, he doesn't drop her hand until she gently slips it from his grasp. "Yesterday, that is, and I was just coming by to see why you did not pay me a visit even if you were just passing through."

"Please excuse my rudeness. I had some urgent matters to attend to," he says that easygoing smile still on his face. He stands straight under her watchful gaze as she slides it over him. There's something hungry in it, _thirsty_ as she drinks him in with a smile that is both smug and pleased. "I did not have time to enjoy your company."

"Does that mean you do now?" She asks, excitement leaking back into her words even as she throws her gaze our way. Her eyes narrow in on me instantly, sharp and calculating and I would have flinched from it if Leonardo hadn't stepped in front of her gaze with a muffled curse. "Sir Leonardo, I did not see you there."

"Lady Caterina," he greets, moving forward to greet her in the same way Ezio had. With her attention turned away, I chance a quick look Ken's way. There's no question in his gaze, he knows who this is. _Caterina Sforza._ The Duchess of Forlì and one of Ezio's _'conquests'._ So, the only thing I find on his face is reluctant acceptance. "It is always a pleasure to be in your company."

 _Oh god, all of Ezio's dirty secrets are flying out of the closet, one after the other._

"I must agree," she tells him, a soft smile on her face as she turns back to Ezio. Dismissing us, she takes him in with that hungry gaze again, unashamed of who might see it. This far out, on the outskirts of Forlì, there is no one _to_ see it, though. "Will you join me for tea, then?"

"Actually, Caterina, we are in a bit of hurry," Ezio says, regret in his tone as he turns her down. There's no way to miss the way Ken flinches at the tone. Yet no one is looking our way, so it goes unnoticed by everyone but me. "The only reason we are still here is that we are a horse short to start our trip back."

"That is quite the dilemma," she says, a teasing tone in her voice. "I could lend you one if you like? Though it will cost you."

"That would be wonderful, Lady Caterina," Leonardo says, cutting into their conversation. He sounds eager and delighted, in his typical, cute Leonardo way. It's almost soothing to see it. "Just tell us how much and we will be more than willing to pay."

"Money is quite a boring form of payment," Caterina says, a smug smile sliding back onto her lips. "I was thinking of something much more…pleasurable for my payment. Come, in exchange for one of my horses, I ask that you both join me for tea."

Tea it is, then.

Not that we get much choice in the matter. As soon as Caterina makes up her mind, she turns away. Leading the way to where her horse stands—a black one with no markings and equally black mane—she stops in front of it and offers Ezio her hand again.

He doesn't even have to ask what she wants. He helps her up on her horse instantly, helping her settle before turning back to us. We're still a horse short after all. With the way things are going, I'm surprised he doesn't climb up after her, but he really can't unless he wants to start a true scandal.

 _She's still married, after all._

"Here," I tell Leonardo as I hand him the reins to my horse. Taking his pack and box of supplies, I quickly tie them to Ezio's horse, before leading it towards Ezio. "Ken and I will double up."

"Very well."

I let Ken sit in the front. With more riding experience under my belt then him, I figure I'll fare better on the back than him. Once we're both settled on Baldo, we head off towards the Forlì Fortress. Though, there is no question that most of us are dreading it.

Our dread turns out to be well-founded, though, when we enter the walls of Caterina's home to find that tea is only being served for three. There are only three places set up on the table, one is obviously for Caterina herself, the other for Ezio, and the last one for Leonardo.

So what about Ken and me?

"Your servants can wait in the kitchen, if they would like," Caterina says, no malice or arrogance in her words as she takes her seat. "I can see to it that they get something to eat as well."

"Actually, Caterina—"

"That would be perfect, Lady Caterina," Leonardo cuts her off, ignoring the look Ezio gives him as he takes his own seat. I take his dismissal as the blessing it is. I so do not want to spend the next hour watching Caterina make eyes at Ezio and I know Ken sure as hell doesn't want to either. "Thank you so much for your hospitality."

With a wave of her hand, Caterina dismisses us. Following behind an elderly maid, we all but flee from the room. Eager to get as far away as we possibly can from the room, we say nothing as the maid leads us to a wide kitchen. One with stone countertops, stoves, and even walls.

"Please, sit," the maid says as she ushers to a wooden, rickety table in the far corner of the room. No sooner have we taken a seat than she brings us a tray of bread and cheese and a pitcher of wine with it's accompanying cups. "Someone will come to get you if your masters have need for you."

"Not exactly how I imagined we'd spend the day," I tell Ken, eyeing the plate. I don't reach for the food though. Stomach too twisted and uneasy to even think about eating, I dismiss the food in favor of the wine. It's bitter on my tongue, lacking any sweetness, but I'm thirsty enough to keep drinking. "God, that's gross."

"Don't drink it then," Ken says, gaze locked on his own cup. He spins it in his hands, taking in the cup even though it's just a plain, clay cup. His voice is as emotionless as the look on his face, blank save for the small twinkle of resignation in his gaze.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asks gaze finally lifting from his cup to look at me. The resignation is gone, replaced by confusion as he pours himself some wine and tips the cup back as soon as he's done. He empties the cup in one long, steady pull. Though he downs the cup like a champ, there's no keeping the grimace off his face once he finally does taste it. "That _is_ gross."

"I forgot about Caterina," I whisper, passing him my cup when he begins to reach for the pitcher again. I don't know if a refill is a good idea, but Ken takes the cup anyway, downing it just as quickly as the first. "You should probably take it slow if you don't want to get drunk."

His stomach is empty, after all. He's upchucked everything in his stomach on the way here. Empty stomachs and booze don't mix. Especially if you want to stay sober. Pushing the plate of food towards him, I hope he'll start eating before the alcohol can have any real effect.

"So did I," he admits, staring at a slice of bread he grabs form the plate. It's small, stale, and probably only a few hours from molding.

Servant's food.

I don't have to look far to wonder where Caterina had gotten that impression. My clothes are the main culprit. Plain and thin and nowhere near ordinate enough to be the clothing of anything but a peasant. Add in that both Ken and I were holding the horses, tending to them, while Caterina had said her hellos and it's no wonder she hadn't bothered to introduce herself to us.

You don't introduce The Help.

Though I'm grateful Leonardo had jumped at the chance not to introduce us, even if it meant labeling us as servants. For all that she is an Assassin ally, Caterina really is a dangerous woman. Beautiful and powerful enough that Leonardo had tried his best to ward Ezio away the first time Ezio had met Caterina. Leonardo is nothing if not a smart man, if he says we should stay away, then I'm going to damn well stay as far from her as I can.

"We'll be home soon, Ken," I tell him, trying my best to soothe whatever is bothering him. Not that I don't know what it is. Caterina's relationship with Ezio is probably as disheartening as Altaïr's and Maria's but at least Ezio won't marry her.

No, his fated lover is none other than Sofia. And he won't meet her until he's well into his fifties, I think. Definitely, past forty. So there's still time, and lots of it before Ken has to come to start thinking about Ezio's future wife and children. He's got years left before he has to decide whether to step back and let Ezio fall as deeply for Sofia as he would have if he hadn't met us.

Still, years or not, the gears are spinning in his head, calculating. He's turning something over in his mind, contemplating possibilities. I want to ask about it but don't. Not because I don't care, but because it's up to Ken if he wants to share. If he wants to air out personal business about them. So rather than ask, I take a stale piece of bread and turn it over in my hands.

"He still needs her," he whispers at last, tossing the bread back onto the plate. It bounces off the plate, sliding across the table to stop by our empty cups. "For the apple and the Borgia and all that's going to happen in Rome, so I can't…"

So, he can't tell Ezio not to see her.

Can't even hint at it or show any kind of displeasure about it. Not if he wants Ezio to have her help when he has to hide the apple in Forlì. So he has to bear it, has to say nothing when Caterina makes her passes at Ezio. Has to be strong enough to endure it with a smile ready and waiting when Ezio looks his way.

 _…As long as you come home at night._

A weaker person would have told her to kick rocks. _I_ would have told her to get lost. I probably _will_ tell Maria to take a hike, if she decides Altaïr is hers for the taking. Sure, Altaïr probably needs Maria just as much as Ezio needs Caterina but…I am not a strong person.

I'm not selfless and noble and _good_ , like Ken _._ Everything I've done has already proven that. By giving Altaïr the codex pages, I've given myself just as much of a fighting chance as Maria, if not more so. Because, allowing Altaïr to see what he will feel for Maria can only gain me points. Can only win me favor in his eyes.

Of course, there had been no ulterior motives in that moment. There had only been the desperate need for someone else to make the call. For someone else to choose whatever course we should take next considering how marvelous all my ideas had turned out so far.

Me realizing I have gained myself some favorable points, in the long run, is only just happening now. When I finally get to see my situation reflected back at me through someone so much stronger than I can ever be. Rather than fighting back and demanding a choice be made like I had, Ken is ready and willing and strong enough to look the other ways _so long as Ezio comes home at night._

"Damn it all."

My curse draws the attention of the kitchen staff. Not that there's many of them, only three, but they all turn to me, startled and confused.

Just when things were beginning to go so well between them, it all suddenly goes wrong. It always has, time after time everything gets turned on its head. If it wasn't because I know Minerva wants us here, in their world, I would think someone was trying to stop us. Like there's an invisible force desperately trying to keep everything going the way it should.

"Is everything alright?" A maid asks from the other side of the kitchen, just as confused as the rest of them even as she makes her way towards us. "Is the food not to your liking."

"Yes, sorry, we're fine," I apologize, quickly nabbing the tossed aside piece of bread from the table. "Just dropped my bread, is all. But I got it, so we're good. All good. The food is great by the way. Delicious! So yeah, perfectly fine."

"I don't think I've seen you nervously babble since high school," Ken says, amused as he yanks the bread from my hands and tosses it back on the plate. This time it doesn't bounce off. The sight of the small smile on his face eases some of my worry for him.

"This is Catrina's _house_ ," I whisper, forced smile on my face as I grab the pitcher of wine and refill our cups. I pass him his cup then, pressing it into his hand. "We can't offend her in her own home."

"Then eat the bread, Jen," Ken says, smile turning into a smirk as he presses a slice into my hand before I can protest. "It'd be rude not to eat the food oh so graciously provide for us by _Caterina."_

"Petty is not a good color on you," I tell him even as I choke the bread down with the help of the wine. It's still stale going down but the bitter wine helps with chewing and swallowing enough that it doesn't really matter. Still pretty gross, though.

"Petty isn't a color to begin with, Jen," he says, smirk turning soft as he grabs his own piece of bread and chokes it down. It takes him a few sips of wine to get it all down, but once he does, he looks warily at the rest of the food. "Are we really going to eat all this?"

"It'd be rude not to, Ken."

He glares at the teasing lit in my voice. There's no real heat behind it though so I laugh as I grab another piece of bread. We eat at the same time, laughing as he chokes on the bread enough to gag. Of course, that just makes me choke as well and we both end up spitting up the bread in a fit of laughter.

That it comes back up like something closer resembling dust than actual bread only makes us laugh hard.

"Man, that's gross."

"Shut up or they'll hear you," I tell him around my laughter and the bread that has managed to stay in my mouth. Chewing thickly, I take a few more gulps of wine to help ease the bread down. That there is now a foggy haze slowly creeping over my mind is easily ignore. "You wouldn't want to offend Cate, Cateri—"

I get cut off by my own giggles as Ken has to spit up his bread completely or risk choking. Rather than attempt to eat the bread again, Ken swipes it away in disgust. As he goes for the cheese instead, I take that moment to refill our cups.

"Oh, let me know if it's good."

"I think it's a little green," he says eyeing it distrustfully as he reaches for his cup again and takes a long pull. He licks away the wine that clings to his lip even as he cringes at the taste. "When was Bleu Cheese invented?"

"Who knows?" I tell him, watching as he brings the cheese to his mouth. My cup is empty before Ken takes his first bite of the cheese, which is probably the only thing that saves me from spitting up the wine when he pulls a face. "That bad, huh?"

He downs the rest of his cup before he can answer. Though, once he does, I refill both our cups with the last of the wine. It's gone far too soon if you ask me, bitter or not, the taste has grown on me enough to consider asking for a second pitcher.

"I'll just stick to the wine."

"But it's all gone," I tell, tipping the pitcher over his cup as evidence. Only one last drop falls, splashing nosily into his cup. We watch the wine ripple for a bit, frown on both our faces. "Oh well, we probably really, honestly, _shouldn't_ get drunk."

"Yeah."

Even though Ken agrees, he searches around the kitchen, no doubt looking for anything that could be holding more wine. I ignore his searching and investigate the moldy cheese. It doesn't smell particularly foul. I'd seen stinky-er cheese in Mexico and it had all honestly been delicious.

"Jen," Ken calls, words just a whisper and look up in time to watch him tip his cup back one last time. "What are the chances of us dying on this trip?"

"From someone attacking us?" I ask, confused about his question in general. The haze in my mind grows the longer I speak, blurring my vision even though a warmth spreads from my stomach. Almost as if fueled by the wine now resting heavily in it. "Probably not that high."

"And from doing something stupid?"

"About ninety-five percent, if we _really_ put our backs into it," I tell him, thinking seriously about it. He's looking across the room as I talk, gaze locked on something I can't make out, so I can only guess at. But I can see the twinkle in his eyes. "Wait, why are you even asking that?"

The spark of something that looks a lot like recklessness.

One I know all too well. Ken's only human, after all, and a young, twenty-five-year-old one at that. Calmness and rational nature apart, even he's as prone to rashness and stupidity as anyone our age. Add in the current emotional mess he's found himself in plus the booze we've just guzzled down and it would have been a complete miracle if he hadn't thought of something stupid to do. We are young, after all.

 _Young and dumb._

"No reason," he says, pushing away from the table before I can reply. I don't believe a word of it so, downing the last of my wine, I stand after him. Curious about what he's planning, I follow after him. We're out the kitchen door before he speaks again. "Where's the entrance again?"

"That way."

He goes without another question, eager and fast on his feet, we passed by confused maids and servants without so much as looking at them. We pick up speed as we go, slowly getting faster until we're outright running.

I don't know who starts laughing first but by the time we burst through the front door, laughter is falling from our lips as the fog of alcohol fully sets in. Even then, we race out into the square. At some point during our running, Ken's hand has found mine and he tugs me through the gates of Caterina's house and out into the city, eagerly.

As if he can't get out fast enough.

"It's about time for an adventure, don't-cha think so, Jen?" Ken says around his laughter as we race down the cobblestone streets. I can't answer him, too busy trying to keep my feet straight under me I just laugh and pull ahead at him.

 _Let the fun begin._


End file.
